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  • One: Sarah

    March 3, 2005

    I don’t know who you are or what I am doing talking to you. I mean, you could be an it. And I’m too jumbled to write, even though my mom keeps sending me upstairs to my room with this journal. So there, the pages aren’t blank anymore.

    Sarah Emily Bright

    March 3, 2005

    I suppose you can see I am a little unwilling to talk with you. I’d rather talk to myself (even if it looks crazy), or my best friend Gabi (who is not crazy, but her mother is). I do want to take this seriously because things are very serious right now.


    March 3, 2005

    Okay, I’ve figured out what’s bothering me about beginning. I figure you are like God. With a Big G. Maybe you are God, and I am not sure about you right now. With all the cracking and crashing and falling and dying, I don’t know how I can write to you, every day, perhaps several times a day (my mom said that). How is that you show up in my journal when you haven’t been here, in our town, when we all need you? Not for one minute.

    Sarah, 12, Ferndale, California

    March 3, 2005

    I will not be writing to you—even though I’ve been asked to. I am going to write to myself. The deepest, best and worst part of myself. I am familiar with me, so this journal is not for anyone but me. You do not have an invitation to sneak a peek. And by the way, by the way, I am going to change the world. You missed your chance to know me.


    March 3, 2005

    Okay, here’s the deal. The screaming unbelievable deal. Yesterday, there was an earthquake. We have no electricity, no phone, no TV and everything is broken or dead. I don’t know how many times they’ve had to rebuild the Valley Grocery, but they’ll have to do it again. I really just want to sleep, but the windows are popped out of my room and that whole side of the house, and the chimney fell over and killed our goats. I can’t sleep. Nanny and Billy. Both of my funny little goats, both with one green eye, one black eye. They were the best at playing keep-away with me. I’m glad I at least saved them from being food. By the way, God, you can’t plant yourself inside an earthquake without being noticed. And Nanny and Billy, that’s just rude and heartless. I consider that sneaking a major freakin’ peak. I have my eyes on you. And now it’s raining. Two days straight. Do you think I can’t see you? My dad says some people see god with a little g, and some people see God with a big G. I’m, well, you’re a very little g posing as a big G if you ask me. But of course, you didn't ask're Big G. Right.


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