Dear Journal,
Well, this is it.
Yep.
Here I am.
In a cell.
With this book and a pen.
I can’t believe they gave me a pen.
Then again, I do have a roommate.
Well, not really much of a roomie, if you ask me.
She sort of just sits there.
She?
Or is my roomie a He?
I don’t know.
They’re just sort of hunched in the corner, long dirty blonde hair covering their face. I wasn’t sure if they were even alive when I first walked into the cell, chains around my wrists.
They cough every now and then though; and they sleep, still hunched in the corner. I know because they snore.
Inhale. Cough. Splutter. Exhale with a wheezy groan. Pause. And repeat.
These jumpsuits are weird.
Mandatory, they said when I was handed them.
They even made me remove my shoelaces. Yet I’m allowed a pen.
Whatever.
Stupid rules.
It’s not my fault Society put me in here.
Society is wack.
Well, its lights out and they want their pen back.
Until Next time
-Journal Girl
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