Treading carefully

Somebody asked me once what I would do if someone published my diary. I shook my head and laughed. I wouldn't worry about those things, simply because I would never write me deepest darkest thoughts somewhere where someone could find them. Those thoughts remain in my head and a written journal is the smell of carrion in the air that draws the vultures to feed.

My sister had a diary. She went into her room each night and wrote her inner-most thoughts on paper. She opened her heart and emptied her soul with ink and folded the pages together to tuck far away from prying eyes. When she left her room, I made it my mission to find those journals. I found the key to her inner sanctuary and read, each page quenching my thirsty maddening need to know more with guilt, but not enough guilt to stop reading. Yes, I know of vultures because I was one.

Now, I sit here and publish my thoughts directly into the cyber ether. I smile at the irony, maybe my sister will find these and have her revenge.