This was a stupid idea. She knew better than this. It was such a stupid fucking idea. ¡Qué inteligente soy!
Somewhat distracted by her own thoughts, Sombra was on her way home from picking up some stuff from the general store. The usual stuff like leche, huevos, arroz, and those dark chocolate bars that had a little peanut crunch in them. Y'know, the usual. Still, it wasn't all that she picked up. When she was picking up a container of salt, she spied a little black journal just laying on the shelf next to it. Just laying there, minding its own business in the wrong section.
She didn't give it much mind at first glance, but the presence of a notebook in the pinche pasillo de condimentos gave her enough pause to take a second glance. And, just like before, she got a little amusement from seeing the misplaced item. For real, it was a fucking notebook in a food aisle. ¡Qué demonios! Did the owners just give up and start throwing shit anywhere they felt like? Or does this notebook secretly contain a spice she's never heard of? Weirdest shit.
It wasn't nearly as funny or strange as Sombra thought it was. Probably just left there by a customer sometime before she got there. But when you're incredibly effective hacker, working for an internationall terrorist organization, as well as wanted by unknown puppet-masters who have significant stake in every single global government, these small, weird, and uncomplicated moments are few and far between. Something about it just made her life seem simpler than it was. Something that made her feel a bit normal.
Still, she probably shouldn't be so fixated on something like this. It was just a fucking notebook. However, in the middle of that aisle, she just froze. She just stared at that black notebook. Stared at it's smooth, untarnished cover. She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to take it. Something deep inside was telling her that she needed to buy this notebook.
¡Dios mía! ¿Que estoy pensanda? The more she thought about it, the more she realized that this notebook was a terrible idea. It was, quite literally, a paper trail. Something that could easily be traced back to her. For someone who went through painstaking detail to remove all traces of herself from everything, she sure was thinking straight. This notebook would never bite her in the ass.
After setting down her belongings and putting away her groceries, all while trying to understand why she made such a stupid decision, she returned to her desk where the notebook was left.
Why did I buy this thing? ¿Estoy estúpida? This notebook will only leave actual physical evidence! ¡Bien hecho, Sombra! You're really trying to not get caught here.
Despite her inner protests, however, she didn't even attempt to throw this damn book away. It just laid in her hands, her worn tired hands, taunting her as she stared at its black cover. The semi-glossy finish reflecting a blurry image of Sombra's own face. And after staring at this thing for what seemed like ages, she could only go back to 5 words that kept repeating in her head:
Write down what you feel.
These five words have been circling in her head ever since she put the book in her basket. Like a fucking mantra that those psychiatrists ask people to repeat ad nauseum in the hope that if they keep saying something is true, then maybe it will be true. Despite all evidence to the contrary or any negative consequences that could arise. Even so, she kept returning to those five words.
Write down what you feel.
And, eventually, her better instincts got too worn out for her to say no to this stupid idea any longer. Even though her better instincts are what kept her alive all these years after the Omnic Crisis.
¡Me lleva la chingada! Yo podría también que lo hago.
Sombra opened the notebook to the first page, and then reached for a pen in a cup on the edge of her desk. After much consideration, she finally settled on what she wanted to actually say.
Hola, I guess. This is weird. I never really wrote about myself before, so I guess no sé qué necesito hacer. Been too busy, y'know, hacking governments and corporations for Talon. But it might help me feel a bit better might be good practice in understanding how I think, y'know. After all, if I know myself as well as I know other people, then I'll be fucking invencible. Nobody can fucking touch me!
-Sombra
Sombra sat up in her chair, leaning away from the notebook on her desk. After hunching over it to scrutinize her writing, she needed to give her back a break. Still, she felt a little proud of herself. Even though she never really did anything like this, it kinda felt good. Like a bit liberating. Like a bit of herself was no longer just inside her head, but somewhere else, expressed. Of course, no one else was gonna see this shit. She would make sure of that. It's why she made sure that her journal not include any trace of her real name, Olivia. That shit was just too compromising. She was Sombra now, and Sombra to remain.
But she did like the thought that this was her journal. Her own personal space. She could write whatever she thought, other people's feelings or opinions be damned. And only she would know about it.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.