Prologue

The days were getting long. Not that it mattered. The smog coving the city in a layer of gray. Everything was gray. The buildings were gray with glass reflecting the gray streets.

Pulling my eyes away from the window. The train chairs with the same gray, and patterned with v's going down either side of the main body.

My feet ached from working all day. It helped that I could sit on the train. My eyes could hardly stay open. Which was not being helped by relaxing on the train. There was no way that I wanted to fall asleep here. My back and neck popping at every chance. I couldn't wait to get home. There, I would eat whatever was in the fridge and pass out. I think I still have something in the fridge. When was the last time that I went to the store? Was it yesterday? No, I worked.

A glint of green caught my eye. My thoughts remained muddled because of lack of sleep. There on the seat across from me was a green book. The dark forest green leather book looked well worn. It's a black string wrapped around the book more times than it should. The pages looked warped in some places and stained in others. Someone must have loved it. I looked away from it. Whoever's book that was surely would want it back.

 The train's constant rattling stopped me from falling asleep. Looking out the window lost interest to me after a certain age. I have seen it all before. The buildings, the people, even the crime. Nothing that I hadn't seen and quickly forgotten at one point or another.

The book on the other side of the train was different. It weighed on my mind. A reminder that I might see or do something different. It wouldn't be right to take something that wasn't mine. No one could have left that book here on purpose. You wouldn't get it back if you did.

I could look inside to see if they had left some kind of information. Like a name or number. Maybe it was a library book. Then I could return it to them. It would help my boring gray day go by just a little better. It may even help me feel better.

With a sigh, I moved across the aisle, picking up the book. The leather is warm from sitting in the sun. The string even wrapped around the book six or seven times was still loose. I wonder what I'll find on the other side of this cover. It could be anything. An unknown great artist, or writer. Maybe some great work of fiction.

I opened to the first page, where three brief entries waited. The writing curved and a little smashed into each other. It looked elegant on the page, even with the little touches. The 'th's connected at the top, showing they never picked up their pen. The 'e's had smashed tops. Making the entrees look more human than the printed books and notebooks. When was the last time I saw someone writing on paper rather than on a computer or tablet? The pages were just a little wrinkled in some places as well.

'Dear. Do I start this with dear? Or is it supposed to be journal entry one? Either way, hello. My sister gave me this book. She said to write every little thought, even the dumb ones that aren't worth saying. That it would help me. I doubt it.

The reason that she gave me this book is that I want to die. It was my mistake telling her that after a few too many. I want to give up and call it a day. I work at a dinner, making minimum wage. Even having a college degree amounted to nothing, in the end.

So far, my sister was wrong. This has done nothing but made me feel worse. I will still try to write in this. I promised my sister that I would. Though I don't do much, but work and sleep. I know I shouldn't feel this way. Nothing has happened to me. I was never abused or bullied. It feels like I should be more grateful about things. Other people have it worse, yet here I am making it all about me.

Journal 2

It's been a while sense I last wrote. Sorry about that. I just forgot or had nothing to write. I thought it would be rather boring to read 'I went to work, I ate and slept.' For the next six entries. My parents were alive. They never hated me or treated my sister better. I shouldn't hate everything so much. There are people out there that have been through worse.

I saw a monster today at work. In the closed area of the diner. The red chair contrasting against the pale skin, and black hair. Its hair covering its face. While it oozed a black mist.

I know better than to go bother with it. The rain outside making the monster look rather lonely.

The monster ran their fingers over the table in a pattern. If it wasn't for the long stretches of black leaving their mark on the table, I might have thought it was just someone having a bad day.

Journal

I have found out something amazing. They say if you die to a monster that no one will remember you. If that's true, I could die to one and my sister wouldn't have to mourn me. I want to die. I have done nothing all my life. Other than my sister, I don't have anyone to worry about me. I could find a monster and die without a problem. Though I always thought about dying after a party. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to head off into the mountains with a picnic basket. Have a little going away party and then track down a monster. I'm not leaving a note for my sister. They will only know I'm gone when they open my apartment.'

Whoever wrote this was crazy. Their sister was right about using it to help. I should look into who's it is so I can return it to them. It was being too sad to let it go when it's likely the only thing they left behind.

Getting off the train, I walked to the booth. The lady in the booth looked just as bothered as I do. What were the chances of her getting the book back to where it belonged? Even I didn't have an idea who it belonged to. It was almost like the book appeared from nowhere. It still felt heavy in my hands. The weight of a life.

"How can I help you?" The woman asked, her tone tired.

"I- "I said, my mouth drying. "I lost a book on the train. Can you help me find it?"

"What's the name of it?"

"It's a notebook."

"Sorry, I can't help you. If it was a book with a title, I could, but notebooks are a dime a dozen." She said, her face never changing. She looked back down at the papers in front of her.

That was that. I couldn't leave the notebook here. It wouldn't find its home. What do I do with it now? If I read the crazy rambling, maybe it would tell me more about who this sister was.