March 26, 2008
2:45 a.m.

Journal,

You're brand new, your pages smell nice. You're a gift from Grandpa in Germany. You are exactly seven inches long and five inches wide, and your cardboard cover is wrapped up tight and stitched together with magenta-dyed suede. There are two suede strings that I can tie you shut with, but that's about it. Oh! And, you have a nice, swirly "N" on the edge of the front cover right next to those strings. You are almost too pretty to have thoughts written in.

Oh well, I'm over it. Obvioulsy. Let's see. It's quarter to three in the morning. I should probably be asleep right now, but instead I'm under a tent of wool blankets and sheets with this nifty little booklight Mama sent with you, scrawling away in a print so messy because I have yet to rub the sleep out of my eyes. Here we are. You and me. At Trenton Academy.

Mama didn't want me coming here. She said we'd miss eachother far too much. I found out there was something else she wasn't saying. Apparently, some kids have been dying on the campus. It's pretty spooky, which is why I go to the bathroom after dinner and refuse to walk the halls at night. Lights are out at ten, and I wouldn't get caught dead in those halls. Damn! Just cursed it. Sorry for the language.

Anyway, I've been here...about a month and a half now, I guess. You were an Easter present, just in case you were wondering, though I doubt it. I should probably make an attempt to sleep now. I thought you were staring at me from the nightstand, so I wrote in you. Anyway, this was all a bunch of jibberish, now that I look over it. I'll write more at a better time this evening.

-Natalia