My Fiddle Short Story

This journal is…a fiddle to be played upon. Jot down the first thing and run, though it doesn’t even make sense; it’s probably not even a word in existence. No rules, no laws, just literary license. Re-visit your fiddle in case you forget how to play. The journal had a house it lived in, and its own lock with its own drawer. The owner of it was a little girl with a mother and father and pool. Her mother used to have…a green bathing suit she never wore, even when it was hot. Her house had a shed in the backyard with garbage of her past, and at one time, belonged to her. She was awkward but felt an urge to laugh when she noticed this stockpile of garbage beginning to take on the image of a pink and baby blue mountain.
She arrived and got out