April 12, 1947
Andrew Ryan's associates came to me six months ago; I was in a farmer's market like usual my paintings were not selling. It was not how I pictured my life to be, but after the war the social position for women started to shift lightly back on how things were. They told me that Andrew Ryan had eyes and ears everywhere and he was interested in the type of painting that I did. A few days later after the first invite they asked me to leave the world of the surface behind and be among the greats in a city they called Rapture. There was only one catch in this so call paradise, and it was that if I left for Rapture I could never come back. The war with the Germans took my father away, and two months later my mother feel ill and followed him to the afterlife. In other words I could not find anything to root me to these lonely streets of California. I was nothing more than an eighteen year old girl struggling to stay afloat. At the same time I harbored a secret that I knew society was not ready to accept and perhaps never will.
So I took my chances and left the world as I knew it, now I live in Rapture. It is dark and smelly and I often feel like I am living in the sewers or on the subways of New York City. Money is tight right now, so I reside on Pauper's drop paying rent to a man called Sinclair. He is an odd fellow. I came to paint yet lately the only thing I been doing is working on a dinner called Fishbowl as the rotten men who work on the Atlantic Express flirt with me any chance they get. However any money I'm not giving to Sinclair or to my own food expenses I'm saving it up to move up to a higher housing maybe in Apollo Square then maybe just maybe I will get the type of life I want to live.