Disclaimer: You must read this if you plan on reading the rest of this story.
The story you'll find here isn't mine but another's. The real author doesn't even know that I'm doing this. But please, don't freak out and think that I'm stealing her work, because I swear I'm not.
This is the only time that you'll see me, and the only time I can lay claim to the words written under this title.
I was her most loyal reader, I think. Every single update had me practically glued to the screen. But, I was also something of a ghost-reviewer, never really reviewing because I felt too self-conscious. Then, the one day I did review, I was surprised by a really quick reply. The author told me that she was leaving FictionPress (forever) and told me to make myself a copy of her text before she erased everything. Her instructions were to do with it whatever I wished --I could even claim it as my own. Seriously, she literally told me to do anything I wanted.
Her account has since been emptied. It's one of those hollowed out shells you'll find floating around FictionPress. The profile is short and abrupt, with no apologies:
"This account is dead."
I want to post her story because I think that it's worth posting, and that, really, it's a waste of the original effort she put into it to simply leave it sitting in My Documents, or to even destroy the data. That and -in a way- I think she wants me to post it too.
I do warn you though; this isn't everything in its entirety. I've gone through the text like, a million times, editing and rearranging her entries. I had to edit it, not only because it was boring at times, but because people tend to repeat themselves in journals, and Rea was no exception to that rule. She wrote and re-wrote so many of her passages, and -in a way- created stutters in her text.
Rea updated nearly every single week without fail. If you think about it, she started her journal in November 2005, and I sent her my review in May 2006. One chapter every week, possibly hundreds of entries per week, each entry ranging from two to a couple thousand words. That's a whole lotta text, not all of it spellbinding.
She also did what a lot of people do when they start a journal, which is to describe their house, neighborhood, themselves, and the people around them in great detail. (I'll let you know about this bit by including an ellipsis (…) but for all the other edits, I'll leave you in the dark, so you won't even know what you're missing). Unfortunately, that part wasn't much fun to read.
Lastly, I'd like to say that every entry you see here is whole, that is, except for the one with the ellipsis. The order may also be slightly skewed, but the events should occur chronologically.
I hope you enjoy reading about her life as much as I did.
PS. These words are her words, the ideas her ideas… I'm only reviving them and giving them a home on my FictionPress account.
PPS. Rea, if you're reading this, I hope I did you justice.