major_west

I was given this journal at the time of my death-- or shortly after, anyway. It's odd, looking back at things I'd written when I wasn't really myself. I made a rubbish woman, an imbecilic teenager, and--

~~Hann--~~

Anyway. Despite everything here, the loss of identity through floodwater, the ports, all of the arrivals and sudden departures, the death and absolute... pointlessness of many of our struggles, this journal was the only thing that remained constant. I had never wanted to keep one before, but here I am, over a year past my death, and I'm still writing in it and speaking to it.

I wonder if it will remain after I've gone away from here.

P.S. The weasel has a name now. Billy and I have decided to call it Ripley, and we hope that it will grow into its name. And no, Libby, I will not walk it on a leash ~~like a ridiculous mincing queen~~.

[Private to Morgan]
One of the newer Inmates came to me asking about weapons-- specifically, where he could obtain them. I didn't tell him anything, but I thought you should know, in case he came looking for a shag.

[OOC: AFTER DOING A COUNT AND REMOVING THE ACTION POSTS FROM THE TOTAL, this is ACTUALLY #98. Unless I missed some other action post. So there. I get to stall.]