Ava Elisabeth

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6/5/2018 10:41am

Dear Diary,
I am sorry. It's only been safe to say something now.
I road far and wide, but I never got where I supposed to. I really ended up all over the place, but I couldn't go back to school.
It didn't feel right.
Nothing really feels right anymore. But I must keep doing things. So I am all over the place, doing things, whatever a thing is. It is confusing to me even and I am the one in this story. I am the main character of my existence and I do not understand one fragment of what is going on!
It is really hard to follow the plot of my life.
I don't entirely understand how anyone could write about the plot of life.
Biographers? They do it all the time. Somehow they take the nonsense that is existence and transfer it into a plot that you can follow. They take a magnifying glass and a pair of scissors and hold your life up to a light. Then decide which details are part of the plot and what goes to the scrap bin. Snipping away into presentability.
The can help you understand a person's motives to their actions. They can tell you a story that is clear about a person.
I can't do any of that for you.
I have no idea what plot my life is following. I think you need perspective to see it, even then you need to decide. I can decide to tell you what I want to. I can hide certain details and keep them as secrets tucked under my shirt like a locket on a long chain. I am shaping my narrative through this journal, but I have no idea what narrative I am supposed to be creating. What narrative am I creating?
No doubt, of an unreliable, sporadic, little girl foolishly following a lead she doesn't have. Or Perhaps, a strange and dangerous person with little regard to what she should be doing or how she should do that. Maybe you already know this. Maybe you already thought of this. I can't change what you think of me, what story you have in your head.
See we are all doing it. Especially here.
We are all biographers. To ourselves and to others. We are telling ourselves stories, about who we are, about our family, our friends, our world, our neighbors, our teachers. We are telling stories that tie up the plot of our lives every moment we exist.
We like to have that clean, elegant plot, even if it is inaccurate.
That is the thing.
While it is miraculous that a biographer could ever summarize someones life, it is fact they can never do it with full accuracy. They have to decide what facts to include what to leave out. Sometimes for purely entertainment value, for hearing about someone's day to day is not always so existing. Sometimes because they have a little feeling that pushed them away from that fact. Either way you can't just capture the existence and put it into a bottle, can you?
None of us can. We are all living in a illusion. The illusion that our stories tell us.
Now, I would love to say that I have figured out the solution to this problem. I would love to day that I have surpassed our stories with my superior intelligence, but that, my friends, would just be another story.
I don't think stories are bad. I just wonder our accuracy. Is anyone of us capturing a snapshot close to reality? Or am I just foaming at the mouth?
Probably that.
Well, Tell whatever story you would like about me. My life is already all over the place. I am sure you will get something correct.

Tenuously, Ava Elisabeth

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12/18/2017 1:04pm

Dear Diary,

I was with Achava, in the break room, eating lunch, as usual. Shelly's Hollow Heart Craft & Hobby was as empty, as usual. I was talking to Achava, as usual.
And then she asked me,
"We should go out to coffee sometime," She said, stirring her chicken cat soup with a spoon.

I coughed nearly choking on my peanut butter and fish sandwich, "Like what? A date?"

"Yeah, Like a date,"

"I mean, I like you, Achava, I do, but.."

"but what?" She said annoyance seeping into her voice.

"I, uh, I can't, because, well..."

"My god," She stood up.

"No, no, Achava, you are great, it's just,it's just, you're a teacher at my school in the future or something," I instantly regretted my existence.

"Excuse me! " She said.

"Ugh, yes, you are are teacher at my school in the future and there is this whole thing with this company and it is the whole reason I am here,"

"If you didn't want to go on a date with me, you could have just said so," She said the annoyance spoiling into anger.

"NO,no, you are this teacher and you are really smart and fashionable, like very classy and professional fashionable, and you have this class and its this whole thing, and their students going missing and there is a grave on a hill, and bouncy houses, and this company, and everyone thinks I am going crazy, because I said saw these people in pastel... in pastel hazmat suits and you gave me a clue and i came..."

I looked up and noticed that her face had dropped.

The anger had fallen out of her face, "What did you say?"

Her voice was steady and anxious.

"there were bouncy houses and missing students..?"

"No,about.. hazmat suits,"

"Oh, these pastel hazmat suit, these people were in them and they knocked me out and I keep seeing.."

She interrupted me, her voice rhythmic and quiet, her eyes unfocused and bleary.

"You are in a cave cave cave and you are running, and the voices stop stop stop when you run run run, but you hear them when you sit sit sit and you want to run run run, and they see you and you yell help help help help,"

Her voice got louder and more erratic.

"Then they see see see you they hear hear hear you they smell smell smell you, they touch touch touch you, and,"

She froze her eyes focused on a point on the wall behind us.

I turned around, It was the mirror that stretched on a long length of the break room wall. She pulled me forward and suddenly the mirror felt a lot less like a mirror and lot more like a window.

"Vince, you need to go," Her voice had the facade of strength, but the scream behind it was easily detectable.

I thought of the break room fridge. It was empty, as usual.

"Right now, Vince," She said.

I looked around the break room. It was empty, as usual.

"Achava, What is going on?"

"Vince, you need to go, now,"

I tried to think of the customers we had today. It was none, as usual.

"Achava, Why is this place so empty?"

"You need to go,"

I tried to think of the employees that came in to day. It was none, as usual.

"Achava," Panic filled my lungs.

Had I ever seen anyone in the store other than Achava? Where did go every night after work? Had I ever been off of work? Had I ever left the building?

Achava grabbed my arm and pulled me through a doorway with a sign saying 'Supervisors Only'.

The room was filled with computer monitors. She pointed at them. A camera was covering every square inch of the store and displaying it on the monitors.

"You need to leave, now,"

I felt hot tears of panic filling my eyes.

"There is a tarp in the employee lot. Go!" She said pushing me away.

I ran into the main floor of the store. Suddenly, I realized each product slowly swiveled with my movement. Only noticeable as I was running through the store.

I ran through the automatic doors into the parking lot. It looked like early morning in the sky, it always looked like early morning in the sky.

I ran through the empty parking lot to the back and spotted the tarp.

I pulled it up revealing a shiny, yellow motorcycle. I jumped on and drove into the empty road, away from Shelly's Hollow Heart Craft & Hobby and away from Achava.


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12/12/2017 6:43pm

Dear Diary,

I know, I know, I know, I should be at school, taking my finals, taking the annual field trip to literal hell, drinking hot coco, roasting pig intestines on an open fire and getting into the holiday spirit, but before you reprimand me, let me speak.

I work the day shift with young, intern version of Professor Branigan, restocking shelves, working the register, cleaning out the dimension void aisle, helping customers, sacrificing souls to the Net Neutrality God, all the regular kind of stuff you do at a craft store.

What it is most interesting is lunch breaks with Achava. We eat in the break room and eat our lunches and talk. It is nice.

"Well, I mean, I kinda wanted to take down an authoritarian government or like, I dunno be a writer," said Achava through bites of her Brutus Salad, ", but I mean, being an intern is cool too, I am on like, level 13 of the intern program,"

"What program?" I asked taking a bite into my Eggs Washington.

"Oh, the umm, ugh I forget the name all the time, the umm, ugh I don't know, but they have a lot of smaller companies and stuff," Her confusion seemed performed, "Are you like a intern, Vince?"

"Oh, uh, no..I'm, I'm a convict soo.." I said, internally cringing at myself.

"OH my god, sorry, sorry," she said.

"You are fine, Achava," I said with a laugh.

The conversation went on, but ... conversation just wanders to other topics with her. It is just that when she talking she is so enthusiastic and sweet, and her face lights up and she always is such a good listener and... sorry,sorry, I am getting off topic.
She usually avoids specifics about her past and internship, but a recent conversation was illuminating.
I was trying to tell if she was an intern with @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. , which I suspected. I brought it up in the most covert way possible.
"Hey, my cousin mentioned that he works at this Ghost server company, Grotto, uh, A Grotto G S M something? It kinda sounds like your internship?" I asked.

"oh, um, yeah that's it's name," She said.

"Did you ever work at the um, whats it called? the umm Grotto something maker?" God, I have no such thing as subtlety.

"Oh yeah!GROTTO pop maker! I worked with two people, Racheal and Sasha," Her eyes darkened, "why?"

"He just mentioned working at one," I said.

"Whats his name?"

"Um, Moppy," I internally screamed.


"Yeah, Moppy, that is my cousins name, Moppy,"

She giggled,"Cool, cool, did he,um ever work in the New York Curriculum guides group?"

"I, uh, dunno, what was it?"

"Oh, it was just like a, um, guides for teachers, teaching, um, history. Anyways, He probably didn't, it was a select group,"

So, I know three things:
a- She works at my previous employer.
b- She workered at a GROTTO pop maker. (I learned to ask this, because of the Commissioned Writings, Intern #00814, GROTTO G.S.M article on being an intern, I can't remember much of it, but that lots of interns start at GROTTO pop makers.
c- She probably thinks, I am a complete weirdo who pretends to have a cousin named, Moppy.
I know, I know, I know, you don't want me to be doing this.
I know, I know, I am not getting enough info for how much time I am staying here.
I know you think that I should be at school do better things, doing things high schoolers are supposed to do like go to class, email their senators about Net Neutrality talk to their friends, email their senators about Net Neutrality, study, email their senators about Net Neutrality and sacrifice snacks to the school ghost, but I can't...

I can't just leave this behind, I can't ignore all of this, I can't ignore what I have seen, heard, felt. I can't ignore this regardless of your approval.
What am I saying? You, don't exist...
I do.
and I am not mad at myself anymore.
I am doing what I need to do. I'm...
I'm not doubting myself anymore.

Unsure and Certain,
Ava Elisabeth

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11/24/2017 2:37pm

"Professor Branigan?" I coughed.

"Professor?!" She laughed, "I wish! I'm just a intern. Do I look like someone you know?"

"Uh, um yes, you do,"

"A professor you had?" She said with a smile.

"No, no, I didn't have her, but she was, um... She teaches a class at my school,"

"Oh cool! Well, is there anything you are looking for? Yarn, Glitter, Goat Hearts?"

"Um, I..." What words could explain me? How could my disheveled self explain that I had met her, this pretty,young intern, as a adult, as a professor? How could I explain the ominous horror that filled my soul each time I thought about that grave on the hill? How could I explain the bouncy house? How could I explain the notes? How could I explain my behavior?

"Oh my gosh," She said, hitting her head with her palm, "Are you Vince? Oh my god, I am so sorry, Marco told me you were coming today, but I just totally forgot about it, not that your forgettable, your not forgettable, I just I didn't,"

She paused then laughed, "I am sorry, I am such a mess. Let me go grab your papers,"

She jaunted off, her long black braid swinging behind her. She pushed through two swing doors and dispersed into the backroom.

I know, I know what you are thinking. "Ava, really? REALLY? You didn't tell her you were just a customer or something? You are making terrible decisions!!!" I know I am making horrible decisions, but what am I suppose to do!Just leave, just walk out of the store. I definitely, would not be able to come back after that and...
and I have to figure this out.

She was back, "Okay... So you are with the um," She leaned and whispered, " Recovering Convicts program,"

"Um, yeah" I immediately regretted saying it.

"And... Your case manager is Yekaterina Reina from Ciudad-Rusa?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Yekaterina Reina? I dunno?"

"Can, Can I see that?"

"Sure," She said passing it over.

The file was of the detail of a life lived. I felt guilty.

"I, um..."

"OH! I almost forgot, Let me go get your ID tag!" She rushed off.

"Shit." I muttered.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I muttered.

"Shit." I muttered.

She came back in.
"Okay, sorry about that!! Here it is!,"

I took the card into my hands. Awe spread over my body.

"They said, if you wanted to change out the photo later, you could, but your case manger said that this was good for now."

Yekaterina Reina, Cuidad-Rusa, Professor Branigan had mentioned them before.

"Which I hope is okay with you. Is that okay with you?" She said.

"Yeah, it is perfect,"

In the place for the photo, stood my face, grinning back at me.

"This is perfect,"

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11/13/2017 5:58pm

Dear Diary,

I have not written from a while. I know, I know, I should, but there has been a good change. a change at least. I have taken an job at Shelly's Hollow Heart Craft & Hobby, a store just north of school.
No, I am not attending class.
Yes, I know this is an unwise decision.
but it is a important decision.

I was sleeping in my dorm. @Cave Girl Claire was sleeping deeply. It was the October 24th. I was reading through @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. 's journal.
A knock on the window.
I looked up. Nothing there. I turned back, re-huddling and re-hunching over my laptop, my eyes burning tired.
Another knock.
I looked up again. This time a little closer. Nothing there. I turned back, a bit more unease filling my face.
No more knocks the rest of the night. The next morning I looked out to the window.
It was just a limb of a tree, I concluded, being blown about in the wind.
But then I saw it.

A pastel piece of rubber, stuck in the limbs of the tree. It edges rough, as if it had been torn.

I reached out and picked it up.
One side a purple hazmat symbol, the other a message in sharpie:

i am sorry, love. here, this should help:

Below it printed the address of my current employer,

Shelly's Hollow Heart Craft & Hobby.

My first trip there was that morning.
I know, a bad decision, skipping out on class and my friends, but let's be honest, I have not been making rational decisions for a long time. I think that I couldn't let this ghost just float away. This ghost of half dreamed nightmare. I can't let it go. I would rather be this than the same as always. Maybe. or maybe... no I won't consider it.

The store front was the store front of the common chain craft store, uniform, clean, boring. Everything you would expect.

I walked in and a ding ran from the doorway bell.

It was just what you would expect, a craft store.

I looked around for a moment, but disappointment filled up my thoughts.
Hot Glue
Everything you would expect.

Then she walked up to me. A short and round girl with an unexpected and pretty Welsh accent. She was dressed casually, but the colors seemed perfectly suited for her dark and polite features. "Hi! Can I help you?" she said.

Her name tag read:

Achava Branigan

(part 1/2)

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10/21/2017 10:26pm

Dear Diary,

I was in the Gloria Allred Law Library looking for information on @grOTTO G.S.M INC. , who have still not replied to my complaints. I couldn't find anything on them, so I asked for a copy of their journal entries.

Before I could even crack open the book, Professor Achava Branigan from UPWARD MOBILITY AND THE MODERN WORKER stopped next to me.

"Hi! Ava, is it?" She said, in a unexpected and pretty Welsh accent. She was dressed well in a relaxed fall outfit that complimented her dark and polite features.

"Oh, um, yes. You teach that.. that class, right?" I said, startled.

"I do! Looks like you have some interesting reading there! What's it for?" She said.

"Just a, um, research project," I said.

"Well, In that case, I might have something that could be of use!" She swung her delicate bag onto table and pulled out a sheet of paper, "This is a great source, but I don't know if it can be credited, you know college standards and all, but if you have questions, you know where I am!"

She jaunted off as quickly as she had arrived.

I looked at the paper:

Dear Ava Elisabeth,
I understand that you are worried about your friend and you are worried about your school, but what you are looking for is not something you should look for.
I looked and look where I am.
Feeling, Smelling, Tasting, Speaking, but not for myself.
Please, You will be better off.

I walked out of library frantically, trying to find her, but she was gone.
Gone into the mist that covered the school in a ominous blanket.
Her exit as miraculous and mysterious, as the paper in my hand.

What does this mean?

Ava Elisabeth

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10/18/2017 6:43pm

Dear Diary,
Since the tenth, I have received this message on everyone of my posts.


So, @GROTTO G.S.M. INC., I have a couple of questions and comments.
#1 Why is it exactly that my journal doesn't meet "community guidelines"? In fact,

#2 Where are these, so called, "community guidelines"? This journal was given to me, so I could write anything I wanted to, and I sure as heck did not get introduced to these "community guidelines"!! And

#3 Why is this showing up on innocuous posts?!! All I have tried to write about is the hazmat suit I saw in the coat room and the... and the thing I saw at my window, both of which are not offensive, even by earthling standards. Oh and don't let me forget

If our school journal system has this mysterious community guidelines that are enforced by "InvaSivBOTS™", then how would my post end up on your journal!! Journals at Psychic High are processed through Singular Time Streams to remove contamination, not Classical Cross-Time River. CCTR would be the only explanation, even then it is unlikely. THERE IS NO REASON MY POST IS ON YOUR JOURNAL!! The only other explanation could be that one of your employees posted it with intent, which is far fetched at best.

So, @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. , what is your explanation? That it is April Fool's Day? That I am seeing things? Oh, I know,

You are lying to everyone.

Distrusting, Disillusioned, and 100% done,
Ava Elisabeth

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10/2/2017 4:58pm

Dear Diary,

School has been relatively chill lately, so I took the opportunity to take a stroll to the Olde Candy Shoppe ran by an adorable ghost couple, Hugo and Francisco, who sell delicious Mexican and American candies and treats. It is sooo good, I spent like fifty dollars just in their majestic caramels. I would recommend the shop, but I can't really give proper directions. I always end up like ,"I think it is just past the cemetery and the Dean's office ? I don't really know, but I am sure you can figure it out," and then no one goes, because a ghost candy shop sounds weird, even for Psychic High.

Anyways, I am back to my normal classes and honestly, I am kind of sick of Mr. Shakespeare. He goes on and on and on, talking in soliloquys and poetry, like come on, you are teaching AP Biology ,not How to not speaking English class. I know it's rude, but his "plays" that he puts on are such a drag, like stay in your lane weirdo. No one wants to hear about a freaking danish prince or like Julius Caesar, like that guy is sooo 100 BC. Besides Mrs. Nottage is much better.

I also have to say that having @Clave Girl Claire , while a bit inconvenient is actually quite enjoyable. Claire is a fantastic chef and keeps everything impeccably clean, as well as apparently being very knowledgeable on a Theoretical and Experiment Physics.
The inconvenient part is that her saber tooth tiger, Spiffy, and my carnivorous Banana watermelon hybrid, Kalingrad, have decided that the closet is theirs now. Overall, It is great to finally have a roommate.

Ava Elisabeth

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9/29/2017 6:22pm

Dear Diary,

Today I found @Cave Girl Claire inside my closet covered in the remnanats of my Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Apparently "Maybe I'll just sort of camp out in their room till somebody turns up," means, eventually break in and eat a ton of ice cream and pass out on an old bean bag in the closet and sleep in a sugar coma for multiple days , until someone enters the room and hears me snoring.

Now I KNOW it sounds stupid, like how did I not notice a fulling grown person and a saber tooth tiger curled up in my closet, especially since all the ice cream was eaten and dairy doesn't smell good after a while. I haven't been spending a lot of time in the dorm, since I got back.

I have mostly been chilling with @xiirth . (I go with them to all their classes, except UPWARD MOBILITY AND THE MODERN WORKER. During that class period, I go and talk to the school councilor for bit.) So, really it is not unreasonable that I did not notice Claire in my room.

Upon meeting Claire, It was explained that the whole sleeping in the closet situations was because, Claire wanted to be my roommate, which I gladly accepted. I gave her my new bed from @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. and for myself installed a hammock. She doesn't have a lot of belongings, which is really great. Also, Spiffy and Kalingrad are bffs!!!

With Rückkehrunruhe,

Ava Elisabeth

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9/28/2017 3:49pm


My breathing was stilted and rough I climbed up the hill. It seemed like there was a child pulling at my sleeve, telling me to stop. My whole body seemed to dread the climb up. The walk seemed to take hours, even though the hill was not tall.

As I pulled the last of my being to the top of the hill, I looked out into the foggy graveyard. It was well tended, grass green, the native plants looking healthy and fresh. Each gravestone in identical white marble. It was well tended for, well kept. Overall peaceful looking,but it was not peaceful, not scary, or anything it was... not right.

The sound was dead, no crickets or sound of crunching leaves. Just a dead silence. The air tasted stale, like it came from a time capsule, not opened for hundreds of years. It smelt dry, like an overly carbonated drink or conversation with past love. It felt soggy, not like out-of-the-swimming-pool soggy, but like sweat caked on old gym shirts.

It wasn't right, not wrong, like I said, but not right.

As I leaned into observe one of the gravestones, I heard the noisy squeak of rubber boots. I turned quickly to see a person in a pastel colored hazmat suit holding a clipboard and another walking, their tall black rubber boots squeaking.

The Squeaky-Booted person froze and and the Clipboard person stopped writing. Promptly, the Clipboard person smacked the Squeaky booted on the face with their clipboard and walked over to me and with one quick swoop cracked the clipboard across my head.

That's the extent of what I remember. I blacked out post clipboard-crack-age-across-the-head. Now I am back in my dorm room. Alone. It is dark and windy outside and the light bulb is out. I woke up on my bed, a new Trans-Dimensional Shape Foam Bed from @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. .

There is no evidence that any of this happened. I am afraid... I am afraid something is wrong... with me. The new beds are notorious or rather celebrated for creating wild dreams, but I was convinced it was real.

After awaking, I ran out into the hall screaming, a old baseball bat in hand, to find the pastel suited people. Instead, I found @Big Jim giving a tour of the grounds to a family. After a heavy amount of glare, @Big Jim moved on and I retreated back to my dorm.

Did this happen?

Ava Elisabeth

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