: How did this get here?
The tip of Jack Grayson's foot bobbed up and down to the beat of his music. The American out of towner, had settled into his run down Athenian apartment a few days ago after skipping out of New York. Now he sat on an old worthless couch he had found on the side of the road and cleaned up. The little mischief maker skipped down the volume of his Ipod as he frowned at an old journal. It was his, he knew it. He flipped through it's pages over and over. He had found on the floor of his new apartment when he had first moved in and for some reason his stomach tingled every time he darted into the pages it held. He couldn't understand the how or the why, but he knew it belonged here. His name was clearly written right there on the cover. And the not knowing why was killing him. And so slowly the boy found himself scribbling into the unknown.
I've never kept a journal before.. I wonder who this was that wrote before? Whoever she is- she seems nice. I don't know why I'm writing or who this journal was meant for, But I'm keeping it! I found it, and my name is on it.. So there's that. I wonder if my real parents left it for me? Wouldn't that be weird?