It has been forever since I shared one of these here, even though I have plenty more written. Honestly, I hadn’t realized it had been so long until recently. I’ve been working so hard on the books and everything offline that I forget to share some of the writing I do that’s not related to the blog in some way. So for the next little while, I’ll be sharing more journal entries in anticipation of the book release.
These journal entries that I’ve been posting off and on for a while here on the blog are the perspectives of two of the characters you will be seeing a lot through the series. Some journal entries will be related to the story followed in the series, while others will be things not covered, although all of them are related to the series, anyway. A lot of them will provide some backstory or extra details for scenes from the first person view of the boys to give you readers a little more insight as to how they think and what might be going on in their heads at a given moment of time. It’s a way to find out more about their personal lives outside of the main novels, and to read little anecdotes that may not quite fit with the main story.
April 13th, 2598 BC
I can barely see as I write this. My vision is only now returning. I don’t know how long it’s been. My eyes have been swollen shut for what seems like weeks, and the light in this room is burning them more than I ever thought possible. I’ve heard Michael coming in and going out of the room so many times I lost track, and yet he’s completely ignored my presence. He hasn’t touched me, he hasn’t spoken aside from his usual mutterings.
I don’t know whether to be thankful or scared of what’s to come. My left hand is still so broken that it hasn’t stopped throbbing, my headache has not dulled even a little, and it took far too long to reach the desk to find this journal and a quill to write with.
He normally shoots remarks my way, and yet there’s been nothing. I think I still have dried blood on me, and it hurts so much to move my head that I can’t even check. It feels like it is. I feel like I’m covered in crusted blood, old wounds still trying to heal but not having been cleaned at all to allow for it. He’s never been one to clean wounds, though. Not mine, anyway. He’d rather watch me suffer and do it myself, like he enjoys seeing me strain to clean wounds I can’t see in places I can barely reach.
Maybe that’s what this is. He’s just enjoying the show I’m giving him by being so helpless. Generally he will tell me he’s enjoying it, though, and do things to make it more entertaining for himself. I feel like I just don’t exist anymore, like I’m merely here in some dream state or something and I’m not actually awake or here at all. I keep hoping Julian or Gabriel or even Raphael will show up, and then I remember that Michael has been gone more than he has been here, so he’s got plenty of time to run into the angels when he isn’t here. And Julian would have no reason to come knocking on Michael’s door.
I wish I was in my own room so that maybe Julian would show up. Maybe he could help me even a little. Although that’s a lot to ask someone when I can’t really speak of this to anyone to begin with. I wonder how long I will be stuck like this, waiting for help or until I can finally tend my own wounds again and maybe have a bath to get myself cleaned up.