-Dear Journal,-
Right, I don't have one of those anymore. I guess if I have to stick with the usual format of my entries. I would say something more along the lines of Dear Napkin I stole from the bar in this rundown town. But that is too long of an opening. So I will just shorten it.
Dear Whoever Reads These Things,
It has been exactly one month, twenty-five minutes and six seconds since I left my mother's home and embarked on this journey of self-discovery (as the bartender put it). I no longer have the journal my mother had given me to document my journey, but I still feel a need to give some sort of update in my life. The updates into my life are almost cathartic. The same way a heroin addict finds catharsis in the first shoot up after thirty years. The relapse of giving in and the release of your worries is invigorating.
I have been traveling every day and night for one month, twenty-six minutes and thirty-two seconds. Thirty-four now. I have reached a small town just up the trail from where I had last updated my "travel notes" as I have been told.
I have been wearing my hood whenever I leave my room I have booked in this rundown tavern. The tavern was small, and just on the edge of the town. The walls are painted a smoke grey with mahogany floors. The bar is covered in blood and shattered cups from the nightly bar brawls. I got the job of barmaid, where I am allowed to wear my hood. I don't need a stray sheriff recognizing my face from one of the missing child posters and bringing me in like a catfish on a line. The town seems to have no idea who Sofey Remilia Momiko was, which works out to my advantage.
The napkins are small so I must write on multiple to get my ideas all across. The treacherous travel to this terrible place ended swiftly enough. I had acquired a job as a barmaid to pay for my room and food here. Some familiar faces have floated in and out of the bar. Many of my mother's ex-lovers and people my mother brought around the home while I was still young. None recognized me, especially with the hood on. But... she did.
A girl walked into the bar Monday. She wore a mask, like many of the other scarlet women. Prostitution, although legal, is still awfully frowned upon. Women of the night are often killed and hung for their work. My mother knows the game all too well. She sat down at a table, just out of my line of view, but I could feel her glares piercing into my skin. A man followed suit, sitting at her table with a hungry look in his eye. A regular, the man had been with almost every girl the town had to offer. He had even been with my mother a few times himself.
The mystery girl, her eyes still fixed on me, rose from her seat and approached the bar where I was cleaning mugs. Her amber eyes shined bright through her pale white mask. The golden swirls and dark painted on eyelashes stood out like a peacock in the snow, yet it was the cherry blossoms and small red lips that I noticed first. A heart painted ever so softly under her left eye was the thing that drew me in. She sat down at the crowded bar. Her eyes never missing a beat. I moved my way down the bar as she stared at me, I couldn't escape her gaze. She smiled. Even without seeing her lips move I could tell. Her eyes spoke millions of words but only a few slipped her lips.
"You." She said, her voice was quiet. I stood in silent confusion. Did she know who I was? How could she read me so well with only a glance at my face? I shook it off, believing she had been talking to one of the other patrons, or maybe even one of the others working behind the bar. She said it again, "You." Her eyes were directly locked on mine. She rummaged through her pocket. Not a word was spoken. I quivered, could she be a sheriff, undercover looking for me. Or a vigilante, hunting out call-girls and their lovers to hang from the branches outside. The girl pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.
My face, full of wrinkles and tiny holes, filled the page. Of course, my mother put my old name down on the paper and filled it with a sappy story of how her precious daughter had been kidnapped or killed. How did the girl recognize me... She kept staring at my face, frozen in absolute shock and worry. She stared heavily at me, as the broken gibberish came flooding from my mouth. "I never saw that... I am not her... please don't give me away..." I spoke rapidly, as the words meshed together. The girl kept her eyes locked directly on mine. Silently she pointed towards the door.
I, still confused as ever, took my apron off and shuffled towards the door. The girl hopped off her barstool and followed behind as we stepped outside the back door of the bar. Behind the bar was surprisingly quiet, the smokers' area was usually buzzing with young teens and drunk old men giving in to their temptations in life. The occasional bar fight broke out back here. The unknown stranger stood in front of me, her eyes were silent for once in the night. I couldn't help but wonder why this random lady of the night had dragged me outside. Would this be my demise? The thought danced through my head like a parade. This girl could be the one who kills me or kidnaps me and make me into a prostitute.
I bowed my head in acceptance. My journey had come to its final destination. I said a silent prayer for my life and took a deep breath. In front of me, the woman watched over me, as she reached behind her. What I believed to be a knife was the unsnapping of her mask. The porcelain mask fell quickly into her hands. As I lifted my head, I saw a face all too familiar to me. The girl, who at first I believed could have been any scarlet woman, was a girl I knew all too well. Her face had similar treatment to mine, plastered on every street corner. On the milk cartons and in the windows of every store. She too was a milk carton kid herself. "Pika Moose...'' She said her voice was broken and disheveled. I felt relief blow in like a warm summer's breeze. I was confused, she couldn't be Pika. No, no! Pika died almost a year ago! Her body was found by a creek.
I looked over the girl, her blonde and red hair, her golden amber eyes, and her shaky smile. This girl was almost identical to the Pika. I reached my hand out to touch, scared that she would disappear like a figment of my imagination. Her hand reached up and interlocked with mine. The cold clammy grip chilled me to the bone, but I couldn't let go. The girl pulled her hand away after a few moments. "S-sorry" She apologized shyly. I looked at her as she grabbed her arm shaking. I smiled as I took my hoodie off and wrapped it gently around her. "Yea... that was me" I said sitting on the cold damp ground. Pika sat next to me and looked at me, her eyes filled with questions. "Was?" She said under her breath, as her trembling hands held the paper with my face on it. "Yea was..."
Unknown
03/05/1992 E.N.D.
