Harley entered the familiar room where he had been staying for a while. He looked at the singular bed with a dull brown sheet.
Without wasting any time, he walked over to the table on one side and sat down, opening a book that rested on the mildly dusty surface.
He let out a sigh, looking at the words that were written in the English language. He flipped through the pages until he got to a blank page, and he started to write again.
~Guess how a shot at a normal life went. It was a waste to think I would ever fit into society. I would have moved to just live for myself this time. But it seems like my time is limited.
At first, it felt like just subtle weakness, but I actually feel like I'm dying. My body is getting weaker, stress takes a toll on me, and I can't even lift a carriage comfortably now. But what could cause this?
