This is Gibson's diary, obviously if he were a human.
This is the first time in a long time I had written anything here. I certainly hope you enjoy it...

April 19

Faint, muffled music pounds gently with rhythm. Various birds squack and tweet to outbeat the music exploding from the neighbor's boasting cars. Once or twice a quick zoom would run through my window, as I sit on the floor or lie on the bed.

A book, The Time Traveller from a man by the name of K.E. Stells sits idly beside me as my fingers tap and press at random keys to perform words onto the screen.

I am so tired; exhausted, even, for thinking about nothingness. Simple, blissed, almost-nothingness.

Or is it nothingness?

I turn the sterio repeatedly on and off, hearing it click with bright, lively music and then die almost instantly with another clack.

At first, I admit, I disdained Mandarin seemingly for always judging me, telling me what and what not to do as I entered into the irritating stage of adolescence. I also always hated how he seemed to always have an answer to every of my little, sometimes outrageous statements that at first seemed so logical to me.

But, I always greatly dispised how he was right.

So on the target.

So realistic.

So very, very right.

I slam my head back against the quite newly refurnished furniture and stare at the computer, the laptop that is so conveniently on the floor while my desk is still boxed. A new way for me to write down my thoughts; somewhat like a diary?

For a while I can't stop thinking.

For a while I even forget what time it is, and wonder what to do next.

And then, I glance back down at the book, The Time Traveller.

Not likely.