From the Journal of William Kidd

Entry #4

Journal,

Night drills.  Oh my god, night drills.  If Satan could take the form of a physical exercise, he would come in the form of night drills.  The point is to prepare us for everything.  We’re supposed to be on our toes all the time or whatever, even when we’re sleeping.  Maggie got the worst of it, honestly.  No one told her about the night drills so she fell asleep in stained pants and a shirt that we could see her bra through.  I gave her my shirt once we got out there, but the other guys were already laughing.  But then Bill told them all to shut the hell up and they listened because no one wanted to take on Bill.  Especially not before he had his coffee.

Bill’s doing really well.  I think he’s got the hang of this whole Captain thing.  He doesn’t challenge me, though, which is cool.  That’s kind of how it’s always been with us.  He’s the brawn (and the brains, actually).  I’m just kind of there to push him off in the right direction.

Aww, Willy.  You flatter me.

Sorry about that.  Ever since he found out about the journal, Bill’s made up this new game where he tries to find it.  He thinks he’s so super funny.

Well I am super funny. 

He’s going to stop now, though, because he knows that the joke is getting old.  (I can hear him laughing still.  He’s definitely not going to stop finding this funny any time soon.  And, yeah, okay. He’s sort of right. It is a little bit funny.)  I think I’ll just hang out with Maggie for a little bit until he falls asleep.

Or not, apparently.  Maggie’s crying.  I can hear her down the hall.  She’s still pretty messed up after her mom—oh shit.  I think the funeral was today.  God.  Sorry journal.  I’ve got to go.

Regards,

Will