If you’re reading this because you followed the link on the first page of my journal, this is for you. I can understand that the things in that little black book might be a little hard to take in, I can understand how hard it can be to just ignore the fact that you just stumbled across something like that. I’m a careless person, this is the second journal I’ve lost. It’s hard to figure out what you’re going to do with it, and it’s hard for me to imagine. I have a suggestion, though. I’d like to request you to return the journal to me, and make no mention of its existence again. I understand that feeling helpless is one of the sickest, most hurtful things that can happen to a person; and I regret that that is what I’m asking you to do. All I can offer you, is a chance to talk about it. I’ll talk to you about it if you’d like, but I want it back. I’m practically pleading you to search for some sort of fictional humanity in the world and to find a shred of respect for me. If you’ve read the entry from the 16th of May, you know that anything other than my journal back is not what I need right now. I’m asking you to not let the hero syndrome kick in. I’m asking you to not make me watch the dominoes topple. I’m asking for my book back.
There is no right choice, but there’s an easy one.