Wow, it's been a long while. Bleh, I'll write a longer note at the bottom. This is not a oneshot. It is a multichap. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own HM, Juno, or any other product/whatever I may mention in this story.

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Monday, November 9, 2009 at 6:34 PM in my bedroom

As already stated, today is the November 9. Today is the day I hate more than any other day of the year. It's been on all of our calendars, looming there like some ominous reminder of what happened one year ago.

365 days ago, Miley Ray Stewart ran away from home.

It was possibly the worst night of my life. No, it was the worst week of my life. We all, me, Lilly, Jackson, and Robbie Ray, spent the whole week just waiting for any sign that she might be coming back.

356 days ago, Miley Ray Stewart was declared missing.

That tore us all apart. The thought of never seeing Miley again was too hard for any of us to contemplate. We've had 365 days to contemplate it, and I still can't except it. I'm not sure how it is with everyone else, since we don't talk.

After her disappearance, Lilly and I spent three agonizing weeks searching for a reason for her to leave. After carefully and thoroughly inspecting her bedroom, we found no evidence of any sort of problems.

Police investigations proved that there were no family issues. Lilly and I would sit there for hours on end just recalling things Miley had said to us, analyzing for any sort of clue. Every time we thought we had a lead, it ended up not being true.

About a month after her disappearance, Lilly began hanging out with the popular crowd. I don't know why, but suddenly Amber and Ashley took a liking to her. After ditching me to hang out with them a few times, she cut off all communication.

I haven't talked to Lilly since then.

As for Miley's family, they don't really talk to anyone anymore. I remember walking into their house one day and her dad angrily told me to go home and never come back. I was a bit shocked, since months earlier he had referred to me as the "normal, responsible son he'd never had". Jackson quickly pulled me outside.

"You remind him of her. He doesn't like being reminded of her." Were his exact words.

I don't really know why, but somehow Miley's departure changed me. I guess it's mostly because I have no friends now and my only friend is a notebook I write in everyday. It also might be because Miley was a big part of my life, and now that she's gone I feel like I have this huge chunk missing.

I'm going to go and scream into my pillow for a little bit.

Same day at 6:51 PM in my bedroom

Something weird happened. Lilly sent me a text message. And a nice one at that. She hasn't talked to me for 11 months. Well, she hasn't talked to me nicely in 11 months. She yelled "Nice nostrils, Ollie-boar. Did you get them enlarged?" in the hallway to me like three months ago. I think it was a dare.

Amber and Ashley gave me that mean nickname, Ollie-boar. It seems that the worst thing they can find about me is my nostrils. They're not even bad, my nostrils, that is. But, of course, they make them seem bad. Since boars have upturned noses, which therefore have some monster nostrils, they called me Ollie-boar.

But today Lilly sent me a rather kind text message. A strange and slightly creepy (okay, not that creepy) text message.

You want to know what it said?

"Stay strong, Oliver. This day is hurting me as much as it's hurting you."

What the hell?!

Since when did she think she could be empathetic towards me? Last I checked, her "best friends" make fun of me on a regular basis. And all she does is stand behind them and stare at her fingernails the whole time. She cannot just come prancing (technically, it would be texting) back into my life like some Fairy Godmother.

Lilly and I do not talk. We don't even make eye contact. In fact, we don't even disgrace our minds with the terrible thought of the other. Okay, so that one's not entirely true, since I'm writing about her, and technically she had to think to send me that message.

The only thing we have in common any more is the fact that we both miss Miley. Other than that, we have nothing in common. Nada. Zip. Zero. Uh, "nothing" in French. We don't even have air as a similarity. I breathe clean air. Lilly breathes toxic perfume air. We have nothing at all.

Surfing? No, ever since she became friends with Amber and Ashley she thinks 'ocean hair' is gross.

Skateboarding? Last time I checked, popular girls didn't get helmet hair or bloody knees.

Talking? We don't even have that. Now all she talks about is "Ehmagawd, that lady gave me a bad pedi! My nails do not match my new stalettos! Honest to blog, I am so never going there again!" That's actually what I heard her tell Ashley in Earth Science yesterday.

Honest to blog? Amber and Ashley aren't smart enough to figure it out, but I totally know that she stole that line from Juno.

I'm saving that message she sent me, though. Because for the first time in a long time, I have hope that the old Lilly is still in there somewhere.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 at 8:31 AM on the bus

Sorry if my handwriting is bad, I'm on a very bumpy bus ride.

Anyway, Jackson came over my house yesterday. It was awkward. He said that all his dad was doing was moping, so he wanted to be able to mourn without the dramatics. Which made it even more awkward.

How would you feel if the older brother of your missing best friend came over your house on the anniversary of her disappearance to mourn his younger sister? Yeah, you'd feel awkward too.

He just sat on my couch and watched the episode of Zombie High she guest starred in like nonstop. Don't think it's weird, I know that episode word for word because I watched it so much. I guess we're all desperate for a glimpse of Miley moving and talking.

Oh, and he watched a recorded concert of hers I have. In fact, he watched it three times. I remember back when he absolutely hated anything Hannah Montana from hearing it so much from his family. It makes sense that he'd want to hear something about her.

After Hannah's manager (his dad) announced that she would be taking a break from the spotlight and spending the next three years in Greenland, gossip shows don't really talk about her anymore.

Anyway, the day passed and I can live without feeling so melancholy. That is, until November 18, which is the anniversary of the day she was declared missing.

I'm going to leave, Amber, Ashley, and Lilly just sat around me. This can't be good.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 at 8:38 AM on the same bus

Any hope from yesterday I had of the old Lilly still existing deep down in the new Lilly is gone. Oh, and did I mention that I have detention? Yes, I stole that from the Suite Life of Zack and Cody. Miley made me watch it with her. Seriously, what in the world attracts people to watch that Disney crap?

Back on the topic of my detention, let me illustrate what happened in the past seven minutes.

"Hey, Ollie! Is that a diary?" Amber asked, turning around in her seat to face me. I hate it when she calls me Ollie. That's what Miley used to call me, and with it being the day after the anniversary of when she left, I'm still a little touchy around the subject.

"Don't call me Ollie." I demanded in a low voice. I glanced up at Lilly, who was fidgeting like mad.

"Ooh, looks like Olliekins is a little moody today. You know, I have some Midol if you want to borrow it!" Ashley sneered. I hate it even more when they call me Olliekins, because that's not only what Miley called me, she also made up the nickname.

"Only one person is allowed to call me that." I growl.

"Oh, I hate to break it to you, Ollie-boar, but Miley is gone. I guess she got tired of your PMSing and hightailed it out of here." Amber snickered. I felt tears burn the edge of my eyes, but I knew I couldn't cry. Guys don't cry. But still, the two had pushed it too far.

"That's enough!" I screamed, standing up and glaring violently at the two.

"Wow, we must really know how to push Ollie-boar's buttons. You know, your tempramentalness is probably what drove Miley to leave." Ashley sighed snootily.

"Listen, you two! If you ever, and I mean ever, talk about Miley one more time I swear I will not hesistate to take drastic measures!" I screamed. Amber and Ashley seemed amused, while Lilly looked both scared and sad. Of the three, she's the only one that knew I wasn't joking.

"You better watch it, Ollie-boar. Miley doesn't like guys with tempers. Oh, wait, she's not here. I guess she was fed up with your temper as it was." Amber taunted.

I usually have really great self control, but this was just too far. I pulled my arm back and swung at Amber. But before my fist could even touch her, the bus driver's hand caught it. I then realized that the bus had stopped and everone was looking at me like I was crazy.

"That'll be an afterschool detention, Oken. Tomorrow until four, and you better be there." The bus driver sighed. This isn't the first time this has happened. In fact, it's the fourth. One more time and I get kicked off the bus for good.

If Lilly had any heart, she would have stopped her friends from instigating a fight.

Too bad Amber and Ashley destroyed her heart.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009 at 2:40 PM in detention

I can't believe I got detention.

Actually, I can believe it. Luckily, though, the detention is being held by Mr. Grant, this awesome teacher of ours. He was our Algebra teacher last year, and then became our Geometry teacher this year.

In fact, he's letting us watch a movie while we're being detained. Unfortunately, the only movie available to him was some sappy chick flick from the 70s. So, instead of watching said chick flick, I decided writing in my journal would be so much better.

Hmm, what can I write? Well, school was normal today. All of the girls are afraid of me now because I almost punched Amber yesterday. And all of the guys are giving me these looks that say a mixture of 'you sicken me' and 'dude, you really messed up big time'.

Other than that, I get to sit in a stuffy detention room with a bunch of people who actually deserve detention. Let me give you the class list here:

Dennis – He's in detention because he set his History book on fire, then gave it back to his teacher, still on fire.

Brian, Wes, Adam, and Dan – They're this group of skater kids who always get detention for skipping class and going to the skate park instead. They've been friends for ever and are always together. Ha, that rhymed. Forever, together. I never noticed that. Oh, wait, back on subject.

Andromeda – Well, she's bound to be bad, seeing that her parents actually named her Andromeda. Anyway, apparently she was dealing. And not drugs, either. No, she was actually dealing used scooters (which she probably stole).

Craig – Craig is one of those football jocks. He beats up some unlucky nerd (fortunately, I don't count because Jackson is tutoring him in English and must have struck a deal to get him to leave me alone) everyday. This time, it was George Gibbs.

Fantasia (pronounced Fan-tay-see-uh) – Her name isn't really Fantasia, it's Anna. But she's a hardcore goth and threatens that if you don't call her Fantasia then she'll put a spell on you. She's here for trying to curse her teacher.

Derrick – No one really knows why Derrick is ever in detention. He moved here about a year ago and gets detention for no apparent reason almost every day.

Candace – Candace, more commonly known as Candee, is the school slut. She's always in detention for getting caught having sex during school hours. No joke.

Well, that's it. All of them creep me out. Well, not Craig and the skateboarding quartet. But the rest do. Especially Candee. She keeps eyeing me and winking whenever she catches my eye. Eww. I bet she has like fifteen STD's.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009 at 4:37 PM in my living room

Holy hell.

Holy freaking hell.

Holy motherfreaking hell.

What in the name of Mrs. Butterworth is going on?

Holy motherfreaking inferno raging inside of hell!

I think I need glasses.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009 at 9:58 PM in my room

Well, I am flabbergasted, to put it lightly.

Such a strange word, flabbergasted. My mom used it one time and I thought she meant that she'd been battling a ghost made of flubber. But, as it turns out, she was actually just shocked.

So am I.

But before I explain why, let me go back to when detention let out. Then I'll work my way up to the thing that made me so flabbergasted. The entry before this was written while the flabbergasting event was occuring.

Anyway, back to detention. Well, Mr. Grant, being as awesome as he is, let us all out five minutes early. Yay! Okay, it's not that great. But still, it was a kind gesture towards us detainees. And we got 300 entire seconds of our lives back!

Hmm, things you could do in five minutes. Win the lottery. Sing a song. Heat up spaghetti in the microwave. Dance a jig. Buy an iPod online. Download new software on your computer. Save a bunch of money on your car insurance by switching to Geico.

Nearly get raped by a future stripper who is desperately seeking a temporary lover willing to have a one night stand.

Hmm, which one do you think I did?

No, not the jig. Though I did consider it. No, not the spaghetti. Why would there be a microwave outside of school? Don't answer. And no, not the car insurance. Though meeting that gecko would have been awesome.

Ding ding ding, we have a winner. The last one! That's right, ladie's and gents, I was sexually assaulted and scarred for the rest of my life. No, this was not the flabbergasting event. As if I could write and fight off a sex offender simulaneously. But thanks for thinking I could.

Anyway, the second I got out of the door, Candee pounced on me. And no, I am not speaking metaphorically. She literally leapt onto me and knocked me onto the ground. Now you see why this woman freaks me out.

Now, just a request, picture me saying the following description of my attack in a spooky, scary manner. You know, like I'm telling you a ghost story or something. This is kind of like a ghost story, but a million times scarier. Ooh, and try to imagine some scary music in the background, if you don't mind. Just for dramatic effect.

"I want you, Ollie-boar." She whispered. It did not (Ooh, no contraction. Totally bone chilling, right?) come as a surprise that she called me Ollie-boar. That's what half of the school knows me as, thanks to Amber, Ashley, and Lilly, those dark, condescending witches of the night. (You see, I'm making it sound scary!)

"Uh, I don't want you." I answered nervously, the sweat gathering on my forehead. I am, to this very day, terrified of this woman. She is probably going to end up being an exotic dancer at a club where only those miscreants who are a detriment to society gather. (Or a rapist, depending on the way her life turns out.)

"I heard you almost slapped Amber Addison." She smiled, her gleaming teeth shimmering in sunlight, also ignoring my previous words. "Will you slap me? Because I actually want to be spanked."

(Reading this, you are probably in full knowledge of how much my life sucks. I don't even like this dumb journal. But, seeing that I have no friends, it's the only thing I have to talk to. Yeah, you've also noticed that I'm a total loser, since I'm writing like the Grimm Brothers.)

Don't you think that's pathetic, journal? That the only thing I can talk to is a notebook? Well, not anymore, after what happened this afternoon. But I'm not at that part of my story yet.

So, here I was, being held down by a horny future stipper/rapist, under the complete impression that I was going to be molested by this sex pistol.

Oh, crap. Back to spooky version.

But just before this malicious temptress forced me to join in the spiteful act of love, she was ripped off me by Mr. Grant, a noble in these halls of education.

Okay, here is where you insert that music that always plays in the Saw movies. You know, it goes "dun dun dun, dun dun dun, duh duh duh". Wait, you can't type music into a computer. Whatever, you know the song.

Now, let it fade out…and …back to normal!

Spooky, huh?

If I haven't said it before, is the most awesome teacher in the world. Project extensions, short detentions, saving me from a stripper/rapist sex pistol, you name it, Mr. Grant will do it.

"Well, Candace, it seems like I have once again caught you trying to take advantage of another member of this school's innocent male population." Mr. Grant sighed. He took out a detention slip (do teachers carry those around outside of school?) and gave her three detentions. Usually he gives her two for her attempted sexual encounters.

The fact that he gave her three for trying it on me just goes to show that I am one of his favorite students.

Anyway, after Candee left with some guy (her next victim, I suppose), Mr. Grant turned to me and asked me about my ride. He obviously doesn't know much about my mom if he thought she was going to pick me up.

I quickly explained that my mom thinks that detention isn't punishment enough and that I should have to walk home. Then Mr. Grant asked me where I lived, a question which I answered truthfully. Then he said the most suprising thing.

"Oh, that's on my way home. How about I drive you there? Don't worry, your mom won't find out you skipped your march of guilt." He smiled, patting me on the back. I was totally amazed. But, still, I had to agree that I did not want to walk home. So I agreed and let him give me a ride.

In the car, the weirdest thing happened. He put in a CD and, to my complete surprise, the sound of Hannah Montana burst through his speakers. Who would have expected Mr. Grant to be a Hannah Montana fan?

Then again, it wasn't as creepy as my mom's strange obsession with listening to Bon Jovi. I mean, really, how many times can you listen to "Living on a Prayer" before it gets old? Oh, we're halfway there. Oh, we're living on a prayer.

Seriously. Is he not moving or something? Because I'm pretty sure you're only halfway there for like a millisecond, then you're like four sevenths there or something. He's not very efficient if he sits there for four whole minutes singing about how he's halfway there.

Even though the topic of Bon Jovi's apparent sedimentary state is extremely rivetting (in my opinion), you are probably getting bored. Wait, do journals get bored? I think they do. At least when I write in them.

When I bought you, you were probably thinking, "Yay, this kid just bought me! Yippee, I get to be written in! So, what'll it be? Algebra homework? History notes? Wait, wait, wait. Is he using me as a journal? That is so stupid. Well, at least I'll have an interesting story. Oh, crap, this kid's life is boring. Thanks for ruining my life kid. You could've passed History, but no, writing down your personal feelings are more important. What kind of teenage boy are you, anyway? Writing in a journal. Pfft, journals are for losers. You could've passed history, kid. You could've passed history."

That was really long, but you're just thinking to yourself with no one to answer, so you can go on thinking this life long monologue if you wanted to and never stop. I wonder if you think I'm a loser. Is that what your inner journal monologue is about?

Er, yeah, I shouldn't be expecting an answer, should I? Back to the story.

I don't like listening to Hannah Montana. Not after her publicist released that she would be taking a long break from Hollywood, a.k.a. Miley ran away and no one could find her. Her music just irks me, since I can hear her voice clearly but not see her in the flesh.

So, forgetting the Hannah Montana thing, Mr. Grant and I talked about some stuff. Then a topic I had been dreading came up. Why do teachers always feel the need to take the role of guidance counselor?

"So, Oliver, I noticed that you don't have many friends. And I noticed this drop in platonic relationships ended after Miley ran off. Did it bug you?" He asked.

Wow, way to be frank, Mr. G. He couldn't even be sly about it. He had to straight out say "I see that you're a loser and harping over your messed up friend who ditched you. I know for a fact it bugs you, but I'm going to ask anyway so you don't feel more awkward than you already are."

Because, yeah, I was totally okay with one of my best friends in the entire world running away without leaving a single note or clue, leaving me to worry endlessly about her wellbeing. Oliver Oken is heartless.

"Kind of, I dunno." I sighed. This is the one subject I refuse to talk about. Of course, you know that I write about it a lot. But talking is different. No one reads this. But with talking, the grape vine is a terrible thing.

"Come on, she was your best friend! You have to be bummed about it!" Mr. Grant insisted, banging his hands on the steering wheel for emphasis.

I hate it when teachers ask you a question when they already know your answer. Why bother asking it if they already know what I'm going to say? Do they find pleasure in forcing me to actually say it?

"Yeah, I guess. I don't like talking about it." I explained, letting out a big, heavy, and totally fake sigh in the hopes that it will make him believe that I am lamenting on the wonderful times Miley and I had together. Trust me, that lamenting has been done. There is not one memory of Miley that has gone unlamented.

The rest of the car ride was silent, other than Miley's voice belting out True Friend.

I hate that song. She told me she wrote it about Lilly and I. If we were such true friends, then why didn't she tell us about her plans to leave town and never come back? Huh? My next action surprised even me. I leaned forward and turned off his car stereo.

"I hate that song." I mumbled. Mr. Grant nodded curtly.

Complete silence.

That what you would hear if you were in the back seat of that car. Not a single word was uttered after that, not even a plea to put a window back up. The only other words that were exchanged were "goodbye" and "thanks for the ride".

When we got to my house, I darted out of the car and straight into my house. I guess I should have seen someone crouching in my bushes, but I was in such a rush to get to my room and write all of this down that I didn't see them.

I came in, threw my bookbag on the ground, and whipped out my journal. I was about to write something when suddenly…

…my stomach rumbled really loudly. I realized that it was probably missing it's afterschool snack. Every day after school, ever since Miley left, I go home and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. Miley loves grilled cheese, or at least she did when I knew her. It was her all time favorite thing to eat.

So, as I am making my sandwich, my stomach grumbles even louder. I decide that I should probably make two to please it. So there I am, eating my first grilled cheese, when someone knocks on my door.

I can't imagine what would have happened if I hadn't answered that door. Would my life be less confusing than it is right now? Would I have been kept in the dark? I don't know these answers, because I got up and went to the door, still eating my first grilled cheese sandwich.

I had all of these ideas of who it could be. Maybe it was Lilly, come to apologize for not sticking up for me. Maybe it was my dad, coming home from work early (he works really late). Maybe it was one of those guys who walks around with a giant check for a million dollars, here to tell me that I won some contest I didn't know I entered.

It wasn't a single on of those people. In fact, the person it actually was was more suprising than all of them put together. Because when I opened that door, I froze in shock of who was standing there.

Right there, on my doorstep, was Miley, who had run away exactly 367 days ago.

I dropped my sandwich.

She didn't look exactly the same as before, like I had always imagined her to be like in my dreams. In those dreams, she showed up at my doorstep, looking like an angel from heaven, begging for my forgiveness. Then Lilly would walk in and apologize for everything and we'd all be friends again.

But this Miley looked different. Way different.

For one, she obviously hadn't gotten a haircut. Her long hair was in a tangled ponytail that reached down to her waist. Secondly, her face looked different. The features hadn't changed, but they were shifted in a different way.

There were dark circles under her eyes, showing a lack of sleep. Her face was pretty dirty, so I guess she hadn't showered in a while. Her lips were chapped, unlike the old Miley who always had full, glossy lips.

She looked a lot thinner, too. And her clothes were ripped in some places; I suppose being on the run didn't help the condition of her clothing. All she had with her was a full backpack, which I later learned is full of belongings.

And the biggest difference was her eyes. Before she left, her eyes always had this happy glint in them, though I could never understand why. Now they looked stressed, anxious, and suspicious.

"Miley?" I asked, my voice way higher than normal.

"Hey." She said, not bothering to smile. She kept glancing over her shoulder, as if she expected that someone was watching her every move.

"Wh-what?" Was all I could manage. There were so many questions swimming in my head, ones that I needed her to answer for the sake of my sanity.

"I need your help." She whispered, glancing behind herself again.

"Wh—how—but—o-okay." I seemed to be having trouble forming words.

"I need a place to stay, Oliver." She explained. Right when she said my name, something inside of me snapped back into place. It was like the surprise drained out of me and I realized that after all of this waiting, she was back and asking for my help.

This was not a dream, this was not a fantasy, this was real life, with real problems and real issues. Miley was really standing in from of me, and I needed to answer her before she broke down and had a panic attack, an event which her eyes foreshadowed.

"Stay here, with me." I demanded. I don't know why I didn't suggest she went home and stayed with her family. I guess it was because I could tell she didn't want to do that. If she wanted to be with them, she would have gone there first.

She stepped into my house, taking one last glance behind herself before closing the door. Before I knew it, she was hugging me tighter than I can ever remember being hugged. After what seemed like forever, she finally pulled away. She looked around, then spotted my plate and my second grilled cheese, which I hadn't yet touched.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I missed those." She whispered.

Even though I was still hungry (half of my first sandwich was still on the floor), I couldn't help but to think of her first. She was scarily skinny. I grabbed the plate and held it out to her. She grabbed the grilled cheese and scarfed it down immediately.

"When does your mom get home?" She asked. I glanced at the clock, it was about 4:30.

"Around six." I answered.

"Okay, then let me explain this. Can we go to your living room to sit down?" She asked. I nodded and we walked over and sat down. This was when I quickly grabbed this journal and wrote that quick entry.

She very carefully explained that even though she is going to stay at my house, I can't let my parents or anyone else in Malibu know that she is here. I also have to be aware that I can come home any day and find that she has left again.

After her explanation of this, I asked a question that had been bugging me very much.

"Uh, Miles?"

"Yes?" She asked, seeming pleased that I used her old nickname. Though she didn't smile, she just looked somewhat happier.

"What happened to you?" I asked. Her happy mannor immediately disappeared. She looked angry, as if I just suggested that she leave again.

"Oliver, here is a rule for you. While I am staying here, I can ask you questions. You can ask me questions, too, but not any dealing with what has happened in the past year. Not a single one about that will be answered." She growled. Wow, touchy subject.

After that, I took her to my room. She seemed happy to be in a familiar place. She laid down on my bed. For a second I swear I saw her smelling my pillows, but it might have just been my imagination.

I sent her off to the shower, where she is currently at the moment. I can tell she needed one. She didn't smell or anything, but she just looked like she was in need of a warm, relaxing shower.

Where can I hide her? I can't keep her in my room, that would risk my mom or dad finding her. Not the basement, that has so many spiders. Hmm, this is hard. I think the attic in my head (my brain) isn't working right. Gah, I'm terrible at metaphors. It only makes sense, since I'm failing Poetry.

Wait! That's it! I'll keep her in the attic! The entrance to it is in the ceiling of my closet. And it even has one of those little attic rooms where she could hide in if anyone ever went into the attic to get something. This is perfect! And even better, my old bed is up there. The one that I grew out of once I hit puberty. But Miley is much shorter than me, so she could still fit in it. This will work out great!

I just wish I knew what happened to her.

-

Yay, first chapter. This story, that's right, the whole story, is dedicated to RandomObsessivePhsycoFangirl (sp?), whose PM I have rudely left unanswered. I think. I will respond to you very soon, and I hope you enjoy this story, which is dedicated to you. Plus, you've known about it for a long time.

Well, I obviously took a little break from writing. Well, I was still writing. I have tons of stuff written. Right now, I have probably thirty unfinished stories/oneshots sitting in my files, waiting to be completed. I just have no time.

So, big warning here, readers. If you are interested in this story, please don't expect quick updates that come weekly or anything. I'll get them up when I have time, which I don't have a lot of.

Yeah, so, here's this story. I hope it was slightly funny. I tried really hard.