So, I thought I might try writing a story about time travelers. This first chapter doesn't really deal with time travel, but later chapters will. Please feel free to point out any spelling or grammatical errors. Tell me what you think of the story. 

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           “Mrs. Diggins?” said a small voice. “Mrs. Diggins? Can I go to the library?”

            Mrs. Mariah Diggins looks up from her book and looks at the little girl standing next to her chair.

 “You are still a little girl, why would you want to go to the library?”

            “Mommy said I can’t tell you. She said I need to read ‘bout something.”

            Mrs. Diggins seemed very annoyed with this brief mention of the little girl’s mother. Mariah was her mother.

“I’ve told time and time again, Deedee, that I am you mommy, not this figment of your own imagination.”

            The little girl seemed saddened by this, and she responded with a little break in her sweet voice.

“But mommy said you’re not. I’m not really your little girl, am I? My mommy and Daddy just couldn’t take care of me, right?” She looked at Mariah with pleading eyes.

            Mrs. Diggins sighed a deep sigh. She had been through this a thousand times before, and was quite tired of it. She slowly took off her spectacles and set them in her lap before she spoke again.

“Melody, your parents were murdered. They have been dead for many years now, why can’t you accept that they are gone?” Tears where starting to come to the child’s eyes, and she let out a little sniff. Mariah faltered for a moment, but then continued.

“Why do you constantly insist that they are speaking to you, when you never even heard the sounds of their voices?”

            Suddenly, the girl burst into tears. She turned without a further word and ran down the hall to her room, where she threw herself on the bed after closing and locking the door. She sobbed into her pillow, wondering if it was true. She had always known her parents were dead, but had never been able to accept it. What if her parents weren’t talking to her? What if she really was making it all up?

            She felt her mother’s hand on her head, but she brushed it away. She sobbed harder, because she knew her adopted mother could not possibly be in the room. It must only be my imagination; she thought. How could it be anything else? She heard another voice answering, but it was not her own. You know how dear. We’ve told you before. The girl pushed her hands over her ears and started to yell “No! No! You can’t be real! You can’t be talking to me!” The voice came back, fainter than before and sounding sorrowful. I am so sorry. I am so sorry that you have to go through this, but you must listen to me. She simply screamed louder and tried to push the voice away.

            The tears were soaking her dress as she sobbed louder and louder. She didn’t want them to be real anymore. They couldn’t be real! She finally stopped screaming, and was satisfied to hear only silence. Then she heard a very faint voice, so quiet it could barely be heard. We will always love you. Then silence filled the room.