Doors

Does someone still live in the cottage in the forest? The one now missing a caterpillar.

[The entry comes again in the late night/early morning, with no name, but the same style of drawing that has shown up before. It's a picture of a cat, not Cat from Wonderland, but a simple cat. A kitten, actually, curled around itself, looking like it's cradled by an expanse of bedsheets and soft comforters. It's a kitten that might be familiar to some that lived in Seattle years ago. The drawing was actually meant to go in a different sketchbook, but he grabbed the closest thing to hand, which happened to be the journal.]

[Amazingly enough, he figures out how to post anonymously even though it's his first time looking through the book. The drawing starts at around 4am, and continues slowly, details being laid in with care. It's hard to tell what it is at first, but it eventually starts to solidify into a view of the Strip, seen from many stories up. It begins as pencil, eventually adding pen and then bits of color for the neon. It finally stops a little after 6am, just the drawing, no words or signature.]

I wasn't a student and American High School sucked.

So, who got fifty pages on their new book written since yesterday? That's right. I did.

I do like my life outside of the city, at least the tourist areas. The bright lights were becoming obnoxious. I am looking for businesses to invest in. I also have a benefit to attend at the end of the month. I suppose that since Spring is coming, charities feel that people will be generous. It could also have to do with American taxes.

I'm bored, to be honest. I need something to occupy time instead of spending it at the card tables.

[Locked to Trystan C]

Can I talk to you, when you've got a moment?

I hope whoever broke into my fucking room enjoys my dirty laundry and the empties, because fuck you.

I need a new place to stay. I am sick of living out of this shithole of a motel room, now with a broken door because some asshole who was probably high on god-knows-what broke into my gd room.

God, people fucking suck.

[Public; Anon]

Need a place. Discreet. Dominatrix type thing. No sex, just pain.

[Text: Unlisted #/Trystan]

tomorrow 10pm [hourly rate hotel address] rm 12

[Text: Nico R/Adrian R]

Checkin in

[as daniel c.]

You people are unbelievable.

You're in a situation that actually allows you to move from your boring as shit world into literal other universes, half of them probably with technology that hasn't been invented yet, with zero difficulty. There are endless fucking opportunities presented to you here. Incredible ones. Ones that at least 90% of the entire planet would give their metaphorical or not left nut to get their hands on. Whole other worlds. The people I work for would sell out the entire company just to get a taste of it.

And what are you doing with it?

Pissing and moaning and probably flirting with each other over these things and living your stupid pointless asinine lives and kicking your own asses so hard you actually refuse to go to a hospital because it'd be too embarrassing or some shit and all that jumps right to me which means I have to get this fixed myself, you dickhead and basically, anything that isn't running into that hotel and through those doors and locking them behind you like you should be.

I hope your fucking sun goes out.

How does one person make their life so incredibly complicated and dull in the same moment?

It's amazing and exasperating in the same breath.

[Public as Peter G.]

I'm new. And, while I've read over what I could on these journals over the past couple of days, I'd still love to hear your best horror stories. From both sides of the door.

[Locked to Trystan C]

Neon Museum? Friday?

[Delivered to Trystan C]
[A box of flavored protein water. There is no note attached.]

Does someone want to let me out of this closet before I claw through the door with my own nails?

Cat, dog, or fish.

Or something even more exotic... like a ferret. Maybe a miniature goat.

I've never had a pet before.

[Phone call to Trystan C.]

Ring.

At home with no health benefits and bad cable.

[This was meant to be private, but he forgot to lock it.]

I got a letter from my ex-fiance today. She actually asked if I would meet her in New York for some charity event. I'm not sure what she is thinking but politely declining seemed the best option. After all these months, she still has the gall to assume that we are fine. Did she not read the papers, or receive word from home? This month just keeps getting better and better.

I would venture a very strong wager that I could start a religious movement on this planet using only illusions, nothing more. Belief in the intangible seems to be a particularly strong trait in the denizens of this world, highly regarded, cherished above the tenets of logic and reason. If that was combined with visions of things deemed impossible, I wonder how long it would take for such an idea to infect the populace like a virus? Months? Weeks? After all, ideas spread quicker than sickness, and lay twice as many low.