CHAPTER ONE: The Journal
I liked old journals. Something about them fasinates me. Something about them
makes me feel like I can keep the dead alive through reading there words. As if they
documented their lives on paper, and they are eternal through their excpiernces.
I found myself at a hospital garage sale one saturday afternoon during the fall. It
was a dreamy dry day. The sky was a sour blue and compleatly cloudless, and
almost everywhere you looked there was a skinny tree with it's sweet yellow leaves
refusing to fall off until the last second. There was mostly junk at the sale. Old
painting that had once hung in the old hospital. And photographs in boxes. Old
chairs and magazines. Really old things. I found a book labled books, and decided it
was worth a shot. It smelled foul, like rotting paper and dust, you know that old dry
smell that made you itch. Not like new books, I love the way new books smell. Once
you take them home in the Border's bag. New books smell like paper and coffee,
and sweet. Inviting new books. These books did not poses such luxaries, no. Except
one. Etched on the cover it said in old print. "Helena Reeds". It was a journal not a
book. I looked at the scribbly hand writing on the first page. I needed to buy the old
journal. It was definatly fate that I had found it. I paid one dollor and fifty cents and
without question took it home and entered the world of Helena Reeds.
I opened the journal and felt chills. It shook in my hands. I started reading.
January 10, 1939
Living in this hospital has really taken it's toll on me. I have been a nurse here for a full year now on the night shift. It's terrible, watching people die. The only comfort I get is from reading stories about Amelia Earheart, however, she was also declared dead five days ago. Life goes by slowly here, being a teenager wishing she could escape this horrible fate, however being raised by nuns I have no choice then to be a nurse forever in this god forsaken hospital.
I sighed after this first page. It seemed as if she were an orphan or something.
Being raised by nuns and forced to live out her life in the way a convent would want
January 13, 1939
I rarely see young men. And when I do they are almost always dull. Going to a catholic school with all girls is the pitts. So today when I saw a handsome young man standing under the street light, he caught my interest. He was the only one on the street. He was leaning against the wall which was parallel to the curb. His cigarette was nearly to an end. I guess that's why you would have found him reaching for his pocket to grab his pack of ciggarettes. It was 3:00 in the morning so there were not any cars that passed by, but if you did happen to be in a car driving downtown, you would have felt time slow down when you passed him. I know I felt a chill as I watched him. He was odd. And the only thing visable from Mrs. Gregors window. Mrs. Gregor has been checked into the hospital for insnaity and needs to be on constant watch. But when she is asleep there is not much harm she can do. I remained watching him for a period of twenty minuetes. The whole time it rained. However the rain seemed to compleatly miss the odd man. A completely dry man outside in the pouring rain is pretty odd. The boy lit up his next cigarette, the rain and wind no match to killing the flame that supported his habit. At this he started walking down the sidewalk then turned down an ally way and disappeared into the shadows of the dark alley. He burnt an eternal image in my mind. An image that I am certain will never leave.
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