Okay, before I start this, I should introduce myself. My name is Sean, and I live on a beach in America. I really don't want to give any more information for obvious privacy reasons. I'm not sure what to say about this, really. I found this journal washed up on the beach, as you can see a good amount of water damage to it. I've dried it off as much as I can, but it's still a little wet.
Only one entry in, and I'm really confused. Take this as what you think it is. It may just be a kid's messed up creative writing story, or it might be something else. Also keep in mind, the entries do not have clear paragraphs, so they will just be typed as a wall. I won't bother trying to guess where to separate, as to not mess up the original entries. I won't bore you anymore, though. This is, word for word (at least from what I can comprehend), the first entry in what seems to be a boy named Timothy's journal.
"Wake up and smell the roses" April 19, 1998EditI woke up last night with a very dry throat and a desperate thirst for water. I got out of bed and heard some loud "clang!" noises. "It's just the house settling.", I thought. I went down the stairs and eventually got to the fridge. The noises got louder and louder, when suddenly the fridge fell on me. It covered my whole bottom half and my throat felt like a desert. I coughed, but instead of blood, a red rose came out of my mouth. I couldn't speak, but all I could think was: "What the hell kind of dream is this?". I thought it was a dream because, well, I didn't feel any pain, but I felt the dryness of my throat. Making this all the more dreamlike was that with one push, the refrigerator was upright. I looked down and saw I was missing my legs. Again, instead of blood or severed legs, a pile of red roses was in front of me. A sinister, mocking voice then said, "Wake up and smell the roses, Timothy,". I turned around and saw a wave of red roses rushed toward me.
The entry ends here.
"After the Roses" April 24, 1998Edit
I woke up in a hospital bed. My legs were reattached, but I saw no stitching. My throat even felt better. I saw on the calendar that I had been here for 5 days. A doctor walked in the room. "Um.... excuse me, why am I here?", I asked. He just looked at me blankly as if I weren't there. He placed a letter on the table next to me. I opened the letter. It said, "Hope you feel better, Timothy! I got you a rose!". There was a red rose attached to the letter. The bottom line said, "From your pal, Louie,".
The entry ends here.
So I'm still reading this journal and most of it is normal kid stuff. Birthday parties, hopeless crushes, issues with his parents, the usual stuff. I think this was just a story. Kids are more creative than you'd think, and more violent or dark than you think, clearly. If there is anything else, I'll be sure to post it here.