Stolen Pages

Page 79// Pancake Time

"Who is she?" I asked, dropping the black journal on the table in front of me.

"Do I even know you?" Melody Walden was just as unapproachable as the journal made her out to be. But I was desperate.

"You don't have to." I kept it short. She didn't want to talk to me and I didn't really want to talk to her either.

"Why do you want to know whom it belongs to?" She asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"It doesn't matter."

She examined the journal for a few moments. She flipped through the pages, read the precious words scribbled across the first few pages before she let a small smile slip.

She placed the journal back on the table and smirked.

"Look, you seem like a decent person but the owner of this piece of trash wouldn't want you to know, so now I'm going to politely ask you to fuck off."

"Look, it's fucking important."

"I'm sorry I can't help you." She said sarcastically.

"Is she real?" I asked, heaving a deep sigh.

She shrugged.

I clenched my fists and walked away with the journal tucked firmly between my fingers.

"Someone's in a terrible mood." I felt a chirpy figure trail behind me.

"Not now Mercury." I said, annoyed.

"Aw come on, talk to me! What is it? Is it just the whole universe? Is it a general kind of terrible mood? Are you pissed you weren't born on Jupiter? Tell me!"

"I don't know why you think we're friends, because we're not! We just flirt with each other sometimes, stop being so fucking clingy, will you?"

"You know I actually liked you, don't you?" She snorted. I took a moment to turn around and stare at her face with some form of hatred.

"I thought we had an understanding."

"And I think I'd like my journal back." She glared at me, holding back tears.

It wasn't her. She wasn't the girl I had been reading about. It couldn't be.

"It's not yours." I affirmed as I walked away from her.

It wasn't her. I knew it wasn't.

I think I'm dying. I think we all are. In a weird sense we're all a part of this tragedy together. And it's weird because in the end, I assume we all face death alone. We all feel it differently, I presume? No two experiences are ever going to be the same. No matter how similar they appear to be on the surface.

I don't want to talk about this, it is scary. I'm not ready yet. Something about the unknown or rather, not being able to leave the unknown just really gets to me in this sort of destructive, sort of painful way.

So I guess I'll just distract myself with pleasant thoughts of some sort. Pancakes maybe? I like pancakes. They're pretty freaking delicious.

I think I'm going to make myself some pancakes.

P.S. There's almost nothing better than 4 a.m. pancakes.