((Visra's writing is done in cheap, lined school notebooks she's stolen over the past few years, and she's hidden them under the couch of her hotel room. She's been writing to and for herself for a while, but I'll just be starting with what she's written since she's gotten to Hathian. Her writing is scratchy, lines straight and deliberate, and she writes over words multiple times to 'bold' them. This entry is written in pencil, so it's slightly smudged.))

Hey... 'journal' thing. It's been a while. I have so much I want to say, and for now, you're the only one I have who will listen. I guess it's better than nothing.

I'm in a new town. Lost, really, but when am I ever not lost in some way? I'm always fucking lost. Anyway - "Hathian". That's what this town is called. It sounds like a name for some floppy-haired dude in a folk band. I'm fucking surprised it's not. Because you know what I've experienced so far? Not a folk band guy, I can fucking tell you that, thank God. He tried, though. Tried to get me to fuck him as payment for getting a ride from him to get the hell out of Texas. I didn't owe him shit. I don't owe anyone shit. I almost bit his fucking nose off. I'm so thankful blood doesn't bother me, because... yeah. He'll be nasally for a while. I hope he didn't have any blood-borne diseases, because his blood got in my mouth and everything. Ugh. Uggghhh.

That's not even the end of how gross this fucking town is. My hotel room smells like what STDs would smell like, if they had a scent. I am never taking my clothes off in here. I can't believe anyone else does. There are cockroaches everywhere. I'm surprised the hookers here don't clean the rooms out of fear of the bugs crawling up them. Shiver. And you know what? That's not even the end of how disgusting this place is. My first day I arrived, after being attacked by that jellopy-driving hair-flipping talking piece of shit, I was attacked again. And... I'd take indie-folk-band shit-breath over this guy. He had... okay. Wow. I'm wincing as I write this. I can still smell it. He had a diaper on. A legit, adult diaper. He tried to grab my wrench from me and told me he would call the police. I beat the shit out of him holy fuck I don't want to make that accidental pun. Please no. I'm erasing the whole experience from my mind right now. That never happened, from this point on, that experience ceases to exist.

This town is attacking me. I wonder how long it'll be until I'm done of fighting back.

I am praying that I never get in trouble here. I don't want to have to make up a last name. I don't want to say my old last name. I just want to be Visra, I just want to be me. Being tied to anyone else is not an option, whether I had a choice or not, that is never happening again. Family only tells you what to do, and then betrays. Hurts. And I'm gone. Far away from that now. Yeah, this town is shit, but so am I, so is everyone and everywhere else. I don't have a choice. I should just stay in these walls until I whither away like a dandelion without sun. Because that's what I fucking am, I'm not a pretty flower, I'm a fucking weed who acts like I'm a flower - but I'm not. I feed off of people and then go my own way. I make wishes only to land in other peoples' spaces and feed off of their energy. Then I leave. And I leave. And I leave. And I'm still not pretty, and I don't actually get any of my wishes granted. I give and get only false hope.

Let me wilt.