The Misty, Purple Cat

Chapter One-Seventy ✎ - Random Writing 1

He sat there, staring at the blank page of the journal. Golden light from the setting sun was painted on the empty page. But he wasn't thinking of what to put down for today. There, in the journal, there were tears. On the other, previous page, was the end of last month.

Half of month of writing, of what bits of his life he'd written down to remember, ripped away over night. He couldn't make himself write, he was disgusted. He wanted those two weeks of writing back. It was full of family and friends, names, some of the dreams he'd had, starting the journal right in the morning. Someone else had this information. Someone, and he didn't know who.

Taking a deep breath, he started to write the day's events, starting with the pages being torn out. The dream he'd woken up to in the middle of the night, that was saved for the dream journal.

He'd done so much in the past two weeks. His morning was terrible, full of anger and sadness. His parents told him he'd be alright, and urged him to do something else. So he started playing video games, feeling better. But the disbelief was still there. The disbelief that he'd, in a sense, lost two weeks of his life.

After this entry, he decided, he would write in it no more. His memories were for himself, he could recount them to others. They didn't need to stick around once he was gone in seventy years.

July 17, 2016
You could say this was for venting.