Dear Diary,
He caught me. He caught me today, with metal in his hand. I was making a bag, near the stones, when he caught me.
He had come towards me with the metal, quietly at his side, and had stealthily walked through the grass to my stone. I hadn't even noticed until I saw his shadow within mine, darker and fatter.
I ran, then, leaving the bag behind me. Maya had been lying down beside me before -- she would protect the bag. I know she would. She had almost become a bag, so she knew how precious the bags were. My life meant nothing if I didn't make the bags.
I was a fast runner. I always knew I was a fast runner; running was the only way the bald man would stay away from me. He clinked the metal behind me twice, his meek attempt to scare me.
But I wasn't scared of him. I wasn't scared of anyone. I just didn't want to have to make a bag for him.
Not for him.
Never for him.
The thought of making a bag for him churns my stomach. I need a distraction. I need to see her again.
I need my pills.
I'll write again.
Author's Note
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I'll Write Again
Mystery / Thriller[Highest Rank: #26 Mystery/Thriller] Dear Diary, I think there's a fine line between seeing someone and stalking someone. And I think I've crossed that line. I think I crossed it a long time ago. I'll write again.
