story i started
 

this is a story i'm working on
it's all journal enteries

Hello, journal that doesn’t have a name. I’m thinking that if I’m going to tell you what I’m thinking, that I should be able to address you with a name. You are going to be about my only friend, which is good, because you’re more trustworthy than anyone else I know. Or at least I hope you are. So what do you want your name to be? What’s that? You don’t want a name? Are you sure? Ok then, I shall call you the Journal that Doesn’t Have a Name.

Dear Journal that Doesn’t Have a Name, (Nov. 1)
See? I told you that I was going to call you that, and now I did. My name is Isamu by the way. Everyone calls me Torey at school, which doesn’t make sense, and I don’t particularly like it. Anyway, I pretty much wanted to start writing in you because my mom has just kicked me out of the house. I’m only 14 and I’m living on my own. I’m not saying it’s not better than living at home, and it might be a little easier, but it’s nice to be able to at least call where you go to at night home.
My mom made me leave because I was supposedly ruining her life, not that she cared. She said that my dad would have stayed with her if they hadn’t had a child. But it isn’t my fault I was born. Oh well, I guess she doesn’t realize that. She gets drunk all the time and I’m pretty sure she has a lot of drugs. At least I won’t get busted for anything like that.
So now I have to go to the launder matt at least once a week to get clean clothes. Not that I own much more than my brown trench coat. But it wouldn’t really matter if I wore clean clothes or clothes that haven’t been cleaned for ages, everyone would still make fun of me. I don’t really mind being punched and bringing home a new injury every once in a while, the thing that bugs me is they really know how to get into my head.
So, because I still have to eat and clean my clothes, I have to earn money by working. Right now I have a job at the zoo. It works out well because I want to be a zoologist. No one in my class thinks that’s a very good profession, but they probably don’t know what it is. It’s not that I want to work in the zoo all my life, but I want to help animals.
Of course, I get criticized about that too. But it doesn’t bother me much anymore. I pretty much have gotten used to everything that is just on the surface. The only thing that bothers me now is when they either try to hurt animals or get at something inside me… it’s hard to explain. Maybe you’ll understand later, Journal that Doesn’t Have a Name.