Saturday, January 6th - 8 am

I spent most of last night on the internet, looking up the possibility of winged people. All I could find was stuff on angels and demons. What was I expecting, though?

Why was this guy taking up so much space in my mind? I still wasn't even sure it was the guy who rescued me from the bar.

I also wasn't 100% sure I hadn't hallucinated the entire thing. The part about seeing a guy with wings - not the part about probably almost being raped and then being rescued by possible angel-demon guy.

I only got a few hours of sleep last night, but I couldn't stop thinking about the guy in the cabin. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure he wasn't a junkie. At least, he didn't look like what junkies look like on TV. So what was a guy, who looked about my age or a bit older, doing in an abandoned cabin?

Was he in trouble? Should I report him to the police?

Was he a runaway? No - if he was at least my age, he was too old to be considered a runaway. But maybe he was running away from something? From someone?

Did he really have wings?

I feel like I need to go back to the cabin. But why? To verify that he actually had wings? To solidify my new role as a horror movie bimbo and be killed by a stranger? To ask him if he was the one to rescue me on New Year's Eve?

I'm going to have breakfast, and then maybe with a full stomach I'll think more clearly.

I should NOT go back to the cabin and investigate.

Saturday, January 6th - 3 pm

I wonder if my common sense disappeared on New Year's Eve. I hadn't drank that much in a long time - maybe I lost some brain cells.

I went back to the cabin. He wasn't there, and I wasn't sure if I was thankful for that or not. But I took the opportunity to snoop around.

There wasn't much to snoop through. Peeking under the sleeping bag, I confirmed it was a kid's Bluey sleeping bag. There was a black backpack in the corner of the cabin, and inside was stuff you'd expect to see in someone's bag who was traveling - toothpaste, toothbrush, a small hairbrush, a first-aid kit, a sewing kit, deodorant, and some snacks and a reusable water bottle.

There was also a sketch book in the bag. I thought about leaving it, feeling a bit guilty about looking at something as personal as someone's sketches, but then I realized I'd already started snooping through his stuff, so I might as well continue. The sketchbook was almost full. The sketches were all in pencil, but they were in amazing detail.

There were pictures of scenery: a prairie at sunset or sunrise, some cliffs with big birds flying, a large house built into a mountainside and surrounded by trees. Most of the pictures had birds in them. Some scenes seemed to be drawn from up in the air.

There were also portraits of different people: a girl with wavy hair with angry eyes; two boys, one older than the other, laughing together; a black girl striking a pose in front of a mirror, complete with a duck-face in the reflection; and a young girl holding a teddy bear.

All of them had wings.

All of it was beautiful and breathtaking, and the pictures of other people with wings were a shocking, but it was the last picture that made my head spin.

It was me, I can only assume from the night at the club. I was sitting on the ground, my eyes closed, tear streaks on my cheeks. But I was smiling. I looked relieved.

I tried so hard to remember that scene, but that entire night was gone from my memory. How drunk had I been? I was starting to wonder if those guys had managed to drug me, too.

I shouldn't have, but I took the picture of me.