Dear Diary

Entry One

1/1/2018

Happy new year! Its crazy right?I can't believe that we made it another year! 2018 sounds so... futuristic. What can I say? I knew it was gonna happen, that 2017 would melt into 2018 at the stroke of midnight, but it was still so jarring to wake up today and it to be a new year. Completely new, untouched by humans yet, clean to the touch, fresh like nothing else, pure. Its indescribable the way a new year feels, something euphoric and depressing and motivating all at once. It just seems to feel that way.

Anywho, Im going to start a journal. This very journal you're reading now, with a leather blue cover and crisp white pages! Just something I can write down my thoughts in, something to use as an outlet- well, not exactly that. Theres no point in lying, is there? Im going to use it to try and stop forgetting, to try to piece everything together, maybe to even fix me. It might be a fruitless attempt at doing so, but im desperate to give things a try. Well, lets get some back story, so some me can read this back and be a little less confused. My name Is Jordan Locks, I am 14 years old, I am a girl, and something is wrong with me, im not sure what, but something is.

There are these gaps in my memory, huge chunks just ripped from my mind and thrown to the gutter. I don't remember my family at all, i don't remember where I must of lived before I lived here, I don't remember how I got this scar on my leg, hell, i don't even know where I got this very book! I do remember a place, a place that had gardens and gum trees and a river that flowed through a hill and was obstructed by a cliff on its other side. I remember my name, Jordan Locks, and my birthday (the 17th of December, 2003). I remember that place having a feeling, a feeling that I don't know if I can describe, a feeling that merged thankfulness and dread.

I don't know how I ended up without a home, but I know that if you turn into the woods at the end of Gwony street and follow it straight down for a few minutes, then turn a sharp right at the tree that looks like a witches broom, and walk that way for a moment or two, you'll end up at my little hut. My little 2x3 meter hut. The little hut that keeps out the rain and is somehow always stocked with food, water, and fresh clothes. The little hut that my pet owl, Tumph, likes to visit sometimes. The little hut that has a sleeping bag for a bed and a little wooden stump that holds my precious books and pens. This is my home, this is where I've lived for what I feel like is all my life, but it might only be a few days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades, or centuries, or billions and billions of lifetimes. Who knows.

I spend most of my days drawing on scraps of paper that turn up around the hut, I wouldn't dare draw on one of my books. I don't know how they got here either, but written in cursive (much different to my own, so I know it wasn't me writing it in one of my memory blanks) in the front page of each is: If you touch my books I will MURDER YOU, im not kidding, HANDS OFF. So I think its best I leave them alone. I leave my drawings on the walls, stuck up with pins, and they always seem to move to a slightly different spot right after a memory blank. Curious.

Well, I guess thats all I have to say for this entry, im going to draw something now, cant say I know what, just going to start.

Bye? No not bye, see you later. Lets see if I remember today, tomorrow.