Dear Diary,
If you think your life is strange, think about living in a chocolate factory. I sit here sprawled on the sugar grass(yes, sugar grass) writing my latest entry for you. I can't say much about this place but if you want to envision it well think of this. Have you ever taken so much acid that everything seems like a whirl of colour? That's what it's like. It's like your mind has been drugged by something foreign. Maybe a world envisioned by a sugar induced brain is an odd world but let me tell you something. This world I see doesn't come from drugs. It was created. This whole place is real; it's not my imagination.
Speaking of things that are not in my imagination, I see the creator just beyond the sugar tree(once again, yes it does exist)Listening to my Ipod again. I think he's mad at me. We haven't been talking. And it's weird. A few years ago I didn't care about whether or not this guy even looked at me. And now I do. It really has been the strangest last few years of my life.
"When are we going to start talking again?"
Willy didn't even respond. He seemed too absorbed in his music to even care what Gabriela just asked him.
"William."
No response.
"William."
Did he just put the volume higher?
"Mr. Wonka!"
Well that did it. But he seemed really annoyed as he yanked off the earplugs.
"I'll listen to my music somewhere else then." Willy said, about to cross the sugary bridge to the other side of the chocolate river.
"Willy that is my Ipod you're stealing! Give it back!" Gabriela said, jumping to her feet. There was a small moment in which they just stared at each other.
"Why are you mad at me?"
"For lots of reasons Gummy."
"It's Gabby."
"Right. Well you can come to my office and pick up your precious music box there."
And he turned on his heel and left.
Fine! Be that way.