Chapter one: The Journal

I presume that everything there is to life is a maybe. In my opinion there is alway a 50/50 chance and the deicison is always hard. It hard to choose a side, choose anything that is in both of your liking. It is also easier to write than to expose your thoughts to someone else. I would always feel nude about it. Feel delicate, like I would break any time soon. Like the slightest touch would cause me to shatter into a million pieces on the cold, hard ground. But hey, that's just me. Right?

Life is based on questions. It is in the human nature to ask questions as many times as possible. The world works around questions and... Answers. So... What happens when an old journal is found in the attic? What is the story? Who is in it? Is it all real or just a bunch of back-stabbing lies? Are you in or are you out? Do you dare to ask questions? The answers may be triggering. Always remember the answers...