Dear Sabo

by Alana33

Marco and Ace were walking home when suddenly a girl pops out of nowhere and literally falls unconscious in front of them. Who is this girl? Why does she look like she's gone to hell and back? And who is this Sabo she keeps calling out to? Starting as a diary-fic [OC x Sabo (brotherly)] Whitebeards. Please tell me if the rating is not correct. AU

1. Diary 1

Dear Sabo,

I'm pretty sure I'll die soon. I'll try not to anyways, but shit is not looking good for me. Whatever, I've never been good at following the odds.

They gave me a notebook.

A. Freaking. Notebook.

You know what that means, right? After all, what's the fun of making somebody a test subject if you are not going to study him or her at all levels? And their mental state is a level, isn't it? So let the poor bastard write their thoughts, and we'll read them once they are dead, to use them for future reference. Sick, ain't it?

So I got a notebook. Crap. HOLY CRAP. I guess it was only a matter of time, though. After so many years, your luck can't last forever. I'm so screwed it hurts.

Wait a second. I just realized. I don't allow anyone else besides me and Sabo to read this. If you are someone else, stop reading. Seriously, stop. These are my personal thought. Leave them alone.

Shit's getting real now. You still won't heed my plea? FINE, I'll tell you in simpler words, fuck the fuck off my fucking notebook you fucking fucker. A lot of fuck's there.

You are still not me or Sabo. Go away. There's nothing for you between these pages. There never will be. So stop reading.

You still there? I didn't realize people could reach this level of stupidity, congratulations loser.

Anyways, I'm NOT going to introduce myself, or write my epiphanies, or try and convince myself that there's SOMETHING good about this situation as I guess most people do in their notebooks. I'm also NOT going to cut this place any slack in fear that somebody might read this before I die. If I die, I die, but I'm saying this. If you didn't want to hear it, you shouldn't have given me a notebook.

You probably are still reading this, completely ignoring me, aren't you? Never mind. Read if you want. Feel free to take a tour in the insane labyrinth of half-trues and surrealism that my subconscious has become. Explore. Get lost in it. Breathe in the years of pain and fear. And then stuff this notebook somewhere where nobody will see it again. Condemn it to remain in a corner, forgotten. Maybe then the memories imprinted in it will become less pungently tangible. My soul can be found between these pages. Let it rest peacefully out of the limelight, covered by a layer of dust. Can you see it yet? Can you hear it? The crumble of a broken mind that starts disintegrating.

Let it sunk into oblivion.