July 8, 2005
I miss him. Sob. I'm back in reality now. Well, if you can call this reality. I woke up, and BAM! I'm back. Right under the shirt-hammock. As if I'd never left. Maybe I didn't. Maybe it was all just some weird dream brought along by my damaged subconscious. But, no. I've got feathers and flowers stuck in my hair. From that bed. Gosh, that bed was so comfortable. It's like, if I were to die there, well, whatever. I'd be happy. The ground is so freakin' HARD! Ha ha. No, duh. Besides, I couldn't have imagined the whole thing. It was too real! That doesn't sound like a very convincing reason. Well…it is. I mean, how could I have imagined feeling happy? I couldn't. No, I was really kidnapped by a jungle boy. He gave me medicine and made me a bed. And he was hot. I miss him. Now I'm back with Becky. Hmm…wonder which one is the better companion? No contest. Little Kid died. Sad. Becky said I'd been gone for three days. She was screaming at me. She's gone crazy, I swear. She freaked out. Cuz, she wakes up, Little Kid's dead, and I'm gone. I'd probably freak too. She gave Little Kid a kinda mock funeral. I'm not sure where she buried her. I'm not sure how she buried her. Becky isn't exactly the most athletic person in the world. She'd probably be afraid of breaking a nail or something. Becky keeps bursting into tears. Pathetic. I mean, it's tragic and all that, but we knew her for all of a week. There wasn't anything to be done. End of story. She probably just got too worked up at the Fourth thing too soon after her fever. I wonder though…did I get what she got? Would I be dead if it weren't for him? Man…I owe him my life. I should thank him or something. But it's not like I know where he is. Becky's mad at me. Saying all I do is write. And stare into space. I don't help. I don't care. She doesn't understand. I don't have room for anything other than him to occupy my thoughts. I haven't told her. She's persistent though. She wants to know where I've been. I'll probably crack and tell soon enough. As much as I like having it be a secret, I'm dying to tell someone. But I hate the thought of having to share him. He's mine.