It's cold. It's late. I'm stuck here in this dank lab with just this sorry excuse for a blanket and the smells of gunpowder and motor oil to lull me to sleep, and you know what? You don't know jack. Nope - not one iota of diddly- squat. "Writing will help you turn a new page, Rumble. Just try it."
Well, I'm trying it, see? And is it helping? NO! You're just like everybody else: ignorant. You think you know what I'm going through - what I've been through. You think writing will get me out of this smutty old lab and forget about the past? You think you know how to "fix" me? Well forget it, Tristana. Giving me this journal was obtuse. Words can't fix my life. Words can't give me a family. Words can't do anything but hurt people. So face it, Tristana - you don't know squat.
YOU ARE READING
Machinist (on hold)
FanfictionScrappy and resourceful as he is, Rumble is struggling on his own. Will the callous young Yordle learn to open up before he goes mad? Maybe not. Author's Note: This story is modeled after journal entries, so the parts are short. I hope you enjoy.
