Black grabbed the note on the ground. He wasn’t one who usually paid any mind to that sort of thing, but honestly, he needed something to focus on right now. Anything. Anything to get his mind off of his job woes or just woes in general. A quick skim through the note, though, made him realize that this probably something that he shouldn’t be reading. It was formatted like a diary entry. Who even dropped this? When he looked at the date, though, he muttered a soft, “Huh.” December 15, 2020. He grabbed his phone and checked the date. May 17, 2023. This was written nearly two and a half years ago… Who the hell had this, then?
He then read through the note completely. It pretty much just talked about how they couldn’t sleep, even though someone named Jasper- who he assumed was some sort of caretaker to the writer, based on what he had written- was asleep. He felt as if someone could break in at any second, and that they supposed they were just as paranoid as everyone said they were. Well… Considering how many houses he’s broke into at this point, Black would call that more reasonable than they may think. It was something that was possible to lose sleep over, but there was a low chance, if your door was locked and you didn’t live anywhere near the hellhole that was the Diamond.
It then mentioned that at least they didn’t have school anymore, even if the reason wasn’t the greatest, but that today went terribly, and their head was hurting still. They didn’t mention it to the aforementioned Jasper, because they didn’t want to be more work, but they always felt bad when Jasper told them that they should have told him. It finished off with a simple statement that he didn’t know anymore, really, and that he was going to sleep now, even though it wasn’t a good use of his limited time. Limited? Black folded the paper. What the hell did they mean by limited time? Were they always focused on something and never wanting to sleep, seeing an expected 78 years of life as limited, or were they dying of something? It wasn’t his place to question it. He put the paper back where he found it and softly sighed. He wondered where the writer was now… If they weren’t dead, anyway.
This one is a bit questionable, so spoilered for mentions of self neglect/self harm.
The note is written on normal notebook paper in cursive. The cursive is sort of messily written, though you can’t tell if that was done intentionally or if whoever wrote this just couldn’t write that well.
May 5, 2023
I wonder if people are beginning to notice how skinny I’ve been getting. Over the past 5 or so months, I’ve lost 13 pounds, all because I can hardly bring myself to eat anymore. If they do notice, they probably don’t care. Last week, the doctor I had to see after I (intentionally, like always) made myself sick on coffee and caffeine powder mentioned it, but I refused to answer any of his questions regarding it or my general mental state. The last thing I need is an involuntary hospitalization at a mental facility. There’s nothing they could do to get rid of this constant empty feeling that gnaws constantly at me. No pills, no therapy, nothing.
My job is the only thing that I want to do, but it only worsens that empty feeling. I suppose it’s ironic. No matter how many nightmares, mental breakdowns, or injuries I get due to this, I only continue. I would say I don’t know why, but I do: it’s lucrative. The money doesn’t help the empty feeling, but just having it in my bank account is comforting, somehow. I can think of many reasons why. I live in the United States and God knows everything is ruled by money here, my parents taught me that I’d be a failure if I wasn’t at least in the upper middle class, maybe I’m just a stingy misanthrope nobody loves… A lot of things. It’s not like it matters. Nobody would even notice if I just disappeared under mysterious circumstances, too, just like several others before me. Hell, maybe that’s what everybody wants.
BVH