Things have gotten worse.

I have not seen anyone. I have gotten better at fishing since I entered this strange place but I am still anxious.

I have encountered some unusual creatures that seem to be very hostile.

All I have is what I used to carry with myself.

I miss my home and friends. I don't think I'll find a way home, so I just hope that I can find some help or die.

I lost track of time. I've just begun to reflect on how much my life sucks now, even though I used to say I hate my life back in the day. Now I wish I could have someone to say that to, but everything is either a plant, a fish or it's trying to kill me.


The man swiftly retracted his pen, and hid his torn-up notebook in a poorly maintained drawer with a small pocket knife he had brought with him from times more familiar, to hide its paper from the seeping raindrops leaking through a roof of rusty scrap plates, gathered haphazardly from scraps and bits of dead machines scattered through the landscape, and readily tucked himself under a bed of leaves. It was a cold storm, and a freezing one at that.

"Oh crap.. it's that damn sound again."

A mechanical buzz resonated across the tiny shelter, depriving him of any rest he may have been hoping for. He forced his eyes open, stood up, and started shaking. This wasn't the first time he had heard that sound; and apparently, wouldn't be the last for a long time.

He quietly snuck towards the hole that barely reached his height that he had for an entrance, pushed the block of wood that served as his door out, and searched the rainy forest ahead of him to find the source of that infernal noise. After a quick moment of reflection, the man had made out the culprit to be what appeared to be a small hunk of metal drawing increasingly closer to him.

It was identical to many he had seen before. Short stubby body, tiny legs, large feet, spherical head, no neck. They oddly resembled clockwork toys. Its eyes slowly turned red as it seemed to charge at the man, who stood still, looking more annoyed by its sound than anything else.

He was already feeling tired enough as it is; he thought to himself, "Ah, great. Killer toys: now with a chance of.. shit, I forgot the phrase." and made for the nearest pebble he could see, through the cold wind and rain, and tossed it quickly at the irritating little machine.

The pebble had hit its artificial eye, and broke through its glass. The machine's joints quickly began to act in a disorderly manner, and it fell to the ground as it let out some strange words while rolling on its side, then stopping at a puddle. Sparks flew in the air, and a loud zap sounded from the now deactivated hunk of metal.

..Liquid sunshine. Goddamn it.

The man, relieved, quickly returned to his shelter for comfort from the storm, and returned its makeshift door to its place. He returned to sleep, lying down on his damp bed, hoping to not be distracted -or threatened- again. Or at least, not in his sleep.