Day 6

1 2 drew his cutlass. He chopped at his cord, cutting through it in one slice. Surprisingly, nothing unfortunate happened - he kept right on being alive! He then walked over to the door and turned the knob and opened it. He walked out and looked at the sea. Then he saw a whole lot of others just like himself, and William was there too, and 1 2 was never lonely again. The end.

William came again today. I am so foolish sometimes. When I asked him if the pirates were the men who knew about me, he laughed. (It felt strange - it hurt a little, when William laughed at me. If a laugh is an expression of joy, as I understand it to be, then why would it sometimes cause hurt?) He explained that the reason that this was a different kind of book, that it was special, was that it was made up. It was 'fictional.' Apparently, sometimes books are written as if they took place in the real world, but they never really took place.

I did not understand this at first. Why write about it if it has never taken place? But William explained that sometimes it is desirable to let one's mind believe in things, even if they are known to be untrue. Did I enjoy the story of the pirates, he asked? Well, yes, I suppose it was enjoyment.

I longed to meet them, to sail the sea with them. I got excited when they did, and feared for their lives when they were in danger. "See?" William asked me, "You enjoyed it, even though it never really happened!"

I began to understand. And, in an attempt to understand further, I have committed to creating some fictional writing of my own, as demonstrated in the first paragraph of this entry. It is my first 'story,' and I have to admit, I did enjoy writing it.

William brought more books. He brought more fiction, which I am anxious to read. Also, he brought one book that contains what he referred to as "poetry." I am excited to discover what that could be about.

I sign, fictitiously,
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