((Luna's 'journal' is written on many crumpled up pieces of paper, thrown carelessly in a pile in the corner of her motel room. None of them are dated. Her writing is big and messy, akin to a child's handwriting, and it seems labored.))

i dont know what to fuckin write i dont know what to fuckin write

((There are scribbles. A few crude drawings of umbrellas. Her name in scratchy bubble letters.))

i hate this plase place. bugs everywhere. julius and his fuckin herow heroin. shoots up all the time. goes off on me. i aint happy here. specially not after cece and luz were killed

((The word "killed" is scribbled over so many times that there's a hole through the paper.))

little pink bitch. you won't get my eyes. you won't get any part of me but my hatred. i hate you. i hate you with every fuckin fiber of my being. they didnt deeserve this. luz especially. she had more smiles than the world could count. more happiness to give than anyone's joy combined. she was my ray of fuckin sunlight. and you took that away. you took it away

((More scribbles. Holes through the paper like it's been stabbed.))

cece was my knowledge. she was so fuckin smart and she aint ever go off on anybody. calm and she got that common sense nobody seems to have. promised me mansions and diamonds and love and happiness. no more fuckin motels and dimebags and scabs and roaches.

they were my happynes happiness and my hope. and you took them away.

i used to think i only had motels and dimebags and scabs and roaches. but no. i have that and fuckin more.

i have anger. i have fear. i have hatred. i have disgust. i have nightmares. i have demons. i have a death wish.

((The rest of this piece of paper is ripped off. The rest is nowhere to be seen.))