I was holding the reed case Peter gave me in my hand. The smooth polished wood was cool under my callused fingers as I put my nails in the grooves of the perfect calligraphy that represented my name. I started examining the scrapes and cuts that stretched across my arms and face like a valley full of miscellaneous plants and creatures. I used my phone to see if their was any trace of blood on my face. Though there was no blood left, there was a long scar that stretched underneath my lower eye socket. It made me look, rebellious. It was a face that said you better run away or else. My eyes looked deadly and wild. Like a tigers when they see their prey. My body looked robust and rigorous. But I don’t feel that way

I was named after a Greek Nymph. She was very beautiful and lived on the island of Ogygia. She was also known to be the daughter of the Titan, Atlas. But I feel nothing like the daughter of a Titan.  Nevertheless, a beautiful Greek Nymph. Though Titans are quite evil, I still do think I could’ve at least have been born with brave blood. And yet here I am in searing pain and feeling like a hollowed out pumpkin. Scared of what will happen next.

I noticed that my leather journal was on the table beside the bed. I grabbed it and took out my pen. I got this journal last year when I started writing music. I used to write on pieces of binder paper, but I kept loosing them. My mom is actually a musician and when she saw this she gave me a beautiful leather journal with a willow tree carved into the hard aged leather. The little strap that opened the journal had a little bronze button with a small star implanted inside. I opened the journal and started writing. I poured my heart out. I wrote what I was feeling in such a way, that whoever listened, would’ve felt my pain. I woke up the next day, and found that I fell asleep mid sentence.