Hi Nora,

This might come off as a little strange, to be writing to you, when I am you, but I need to talk to someone, and you’re the only one I have right now.

Maybe I’ll do this often. Maybe I’ll do this once. I just want a place to put my memories down. I do not think well, when everything is stuck and jumbled in my head. This helps me reflect, feel better sometimes, and understand that these events truly happened. That I am not going insane, like my parents wanted to convince me I was. Not recalling things right. Being always wrong. Not responsible enough.

Crazy.

Nora, you left your old life behind eight hours ago, by slamming the door to your childhood home, and telling your father, your mother, that they did not control you anymore.

Currently, you are on a plane that is heading toward a new city you’ve never lived in before. You are uncertain, if this will work out. You pray, that you will not have to go back.

You flew here once, a week ago to meet Alexandra Winters—an amazing person, who is also an insanely talented artist.

You were not sure, if she would hire you. Her standards seemed high. But she was satisfied with your work, and now that you have the job, you are finally able to get out of that terrible, terrible household and sorry excuse for a home.

A flight attendant has given you a free cookie. For the first time today, you smile. The truth is, though, Nora, that you are also apprehensive. You hate drawing. This job isn’t something you want to do. It’s something you’re talented at, and have to do, if you want to survive.

You wanted the screams to stop; therefore, you had no other choice but to say yes.

I hope you don’t forget that you want to be a voice actress. You don’t want to spend hours coloring in someone else’s work, even if it’s the work, of someone you admire.

There is always light in dark places, and darkness in bright spaces, so, despite this strange path life has put you on, you stay hopeful.

Despite your fears, you want to believe, that it will get better.

*

Nora, you arrived three hours ago. It’s now midnight. You’re in bed, listening, to your brand new neighbors laughing next door. You are lonely. You are cold. Everyone you went to school with is planning their weddings, while you are wondering whether you should eat pizza or noodles for dinner tomorrow night.

Your suitcase is still the only furniture you have, aside from the used mattress that came with your apartment; there is a spot of dried blood on its edges, you hope you’ll have enough money to replace it soon.

A neon sign is flashing pink tones into your bedroom. You close your eyes. You pretend you are elsewhere. On a beach. In a castle. In one of those pretty, fantasy worlds Alexandra draws sometimes, that you then color in.

You blink. The illusion breaks. You want to call someone, but there is no one to call. Not at this hour.

Your chest hurts. You wonder if you are going to die, or if it is just your anxiety talking, beating your heart up, making you choke. You think of the town you left. You wonder if you should regret this. You are not like your old friends or Alexandra—people who have everything. Maybe you weren’t made to be happy. Maybe life is just unfair and wasn’t in your favor.

You start wishing to be in a video game, at least, then, you could press retry, or go back to your last save point.

You decide this is silly.

You put your pen down, and stop writing.