**Kurt Hummel**
My name is Kurt Hummel, and I'm a wizard. Okay, a wizard in training.
I'd rather be wearing clothes from Sears.
Alright, lets not jump to immediate conclusions about it. I enjoy it enough, and I've done some good in my time, though no one has recognized it as such. I get tossed into dumpsters as often as I help someone find a missing something or other. I've helped a possessed child, and the same day someone threw pee balloons at me and ruined my Dolce & Gabbana sweater.
Being a wizard in training is made all the more difficult by being forced to go to high school with neanderthals.
My dad is part of the White Council. Do you realize the immensity of the shoes I've been left to fill? I'd be willing to fill those shoes if they were Marc Jacobs or Fendi or something, but these are hardcore wizard shoes, hidden in the wrinkled, malodorous folds of boots that smell like oil and burning gasoline.
I love my dad more than anyone, but he's really pushing this White Council thing. He says I have a responsibility to the world to use magic for good. Really? I'm fifteen years old and invisible. Invisible people shouldn't have that power, and no fifteen year old, especially those here in Lima, should have any responsibility whatsoever–not if it involves life and death situations, which it does, most of the time.
I'm fifteen, and I'd rather spend time fantasizing about making out and hoping I did well on a report on Marco Polo. I have a few minutes a day left to that.
Dad's calling me. He has some free time between appointments and wants to teach me another summoning spell. Yay.
**Sue Sylvester**
Dear Diary:
For someone who is only just turning thirty on into eternity, I'm feeling much older. Yes, laugh if you must, but the years are getting to me. I've spent the last thirty-eight years fighting to get to the top of the food chain, but being trapped in this hell hole town hasn't really made me shine in the eyes of the Red Court. I've done right by them, haven't I? Haven't I been at their beck and call for close to two centuries? And yet I'm still a lapdog. No longer. My seeds of destruction are being sown as we speak. I've taken an interest in one of the Cheerios–Santana, her name is... I think. It doesn't matter what her name is. What matters is that she's addicted to the feedings, as they all become, eventually. She'll work perfectly. I'll have their attention soon enough.
**Mike Chang**
It's getting easier, finally, dealing with this plague of mine. It's not easy, but easier is a blessing. Playing football helps keep me focused on something else for a change, and the running around helps a lot, actually. If I put all of my energy into that, I'm too tired to be too much of a hassle when night falls.
I had one close call, but it was taken care of quickly and quietly. I haven't even wanted to bite anyone in the last two weeks. Finn's lucky I have willpower. I could have honestly killed him... but he has no idea I was that close to tearing out his throat.
I'm locking myself up for the night, now... the moon will be out shortly, and last time I stayed in my room I busted my TV, which Mom is -still- upset about.
It gets easier, right? I mean, it has to. It can't possibly get worse than this.
Good night.
**Noah Puckerman**
Black magic sounds so ghetto, dudes, but yo, I totally made this chick fall for me just by like, looking at her. It might have just been my Pucktastic looks, but whatever works.
How much trouble could I actually get in?
None.
I'm the Puckasaurus.
**Emma Pillsbury**
Oh, my goodness, humans are filthy creatures.
I'm fine with all of them assuming I have some deep-rooted psychosis, because just the idea of explaining to them just how -disgusting- and -unworthy- they are... I'd... I don't know what I'd do, but I'd get in an enormous amount of trouble for it.
I don't know why God sent me here, but if it is to convince them to be cleaner, I don't think I'll be able to convince them.
They are filthy, filthy things.
I can't believe they are the God's holy ones.
I hope he didn't hear me say that.