This is the diary of Artemis Fowl. You will never find this diary because it is kept in a bulletproof, bombproof safe with an iris scanner and a 12 figure code which changes daily. Oh, and it can be remotely self-destructed from a distance of anywhere in the world. But, just to cede to the teenage side of me which I have successfully quashed for 18 years, I shall go with the old cliché and warn you to ‘Keep out.’

It is with the greatest pleasure that I confess to never having confessed my teenage angst to an inanimate object. However, it would seem that my ever incompetent child psychiatrist has ascended to new levels of incompetence in prescribing the writing of my ‘deepest thoughts’ in bound paper.

After my last time-travelling escapade, you would think that there would be large amounts of data which I could input into this journal, and yet I find myself somewhat empty of any traumas which I need to ‘get off my chest’. There is but one resonating memory which stubbornly and resolutely squats in my brain, and I do not remember renting that space out.

Although I have never allowed myself to succumb to the amplified levels of lust which being a teenager brings, even I, Artemis Fowl am occasionally held to hostage by my hormones. It was on one of these aforementioned rare occasions that I found myself acting, somewhat, shall we say irrationally.

For precisely four years, seven months and twelve days I have known Captain Holly Short, or, if we are counting time-travelling, eight years, seven months and twelve days. Being myself an expert on human behaviour it is not unbeknownst to me that there is generally the cliché of love between two people who have become so, shall we say, ‘close’. Yet I must confess that I have never thought of Holly and I being this kind of ‘close’.

I have taken a minute to analyse all the facts and details and can only conclude that the, um, sexual tension between myself and Holly should long ago have emanated, resulting in, ahem. Frenzied passion.

I must now get to my original point, because I have not yet checked the Fowl stocks in solar panels (a new eco-friendly business venture of my father’s) and I fear that I could procrastinate for several more pages before I admit to-to, um
 
I kissed Holly Short. That’s right; I kissed Captain Holly Short, who is a fairy, who is beauti...

Well, I think this entry has gone on for far too long already. So I shall sign off.

Yours perplexedly,
Artemis Fowl

Now read:
THE DIARY OF CAPTAIN HOLLY SHORT
by Kathryn

Inspired by Olivia’s Diary Of Artemis Fowl, Holly Short gives her side of things.