Snuck onto Alex's laptop. I didn't think she would notice, the state she's in. The state everybody's in, but especially Alex and Chelle.

Chelle's been acting insane lately. Alex won't stop worrying. Everybody's so afraid, so tense, so nervous because they found that arm but they know Sarah is still alive out there, somewhere. That day I spent playing outside, laughing with Alex and loosing my glasses, seems so far away, so unlike the twitchy person I wake up and see and go to sleep and see. I know Chelle is having nightmares, and my sister might be too, all the racket she makes in the middle of the night. Does anybody else even hear her? Or is it just in my head? Am I the one going crazy, and Alex and Chelle and Sarah and the police and the neighbors are all perfectly okay?

So I never got to make a blog post for it, couldn't go to the library, but this girl's been missing, Sarah. One of my friends knew her well, but I don't even know what she looks like. We all know what her arm looks like. Mom told me, she thinks I'm old enough, BUT I DON'T.The police found it. An arm. Sarah's arm. Like, "Ha ha. You can't find me. Stupid people." I could laugh at that, but under the circumstances I just don't feel like laughing. IT'S HER ARM. AN ARM AN ARM AN ARM AN ARM. But she's still alive, not fantastic but she's still alive, and this time SHE'S gonna be dead and we'll be still alive. Still alive. Still alive. I...don't feel as worried as everybody else. My lips aren't falling apart from chewing them, my eyebrows aren't permanently furrowed in some nervous way, and I'm only loosing sleep because I think I hear Alex but I'm not sure and I'm paralyzed and can't get out of bed. I just feel numb. All day, everyday. Because there's a girl who doesn't have an arm, who's still in the clutches of who's probably a sadist, whose parents are worried sick and her dog and her friends and her boyfriend and she'll never go to prom, or another football game, or live again.

I helped a boy pick out a guitar today. It's nice people still have music when there's a murderer on the loose and an innocent girl in his clutches. Sam says that might be one of the last guitars he sells. People aren't walking around anymore, buying things, feeling happy enough for some music. He's gonna have to shut down, or just take a break. Then what am I going to do to stop from thinking about everything else? Samuel, don't kick me out of my cocoon. Don't leave, Samuel, don't make me leave, we're safe in there. At least he's not totally positive.

That sounds so selfish. Me worrying about me wasting time in a music store, while Alex is making scary noises in her bedroom and Chelle's even twitchier and crazier than everybody else and SARAH DOESN'T HAVE AN ARM. But I'm going to leave it up anyways, because it's kind of sort of a little bit true.

Everyday I open my window and peak out. It's already hot, of course. I like around. Palm trees. Our little backyard. And I sing, the same words, every morning. "Saaaraaaah, oh Saraaah, run away from the bogeyman!" And if the dogs aren't barking, the sirens aren't wailing, the birds aren't chirping, I hear my cracked voice echo its way back to me. Like a boomerang.

Some days I imagine Sarah's response. "I'm here. Why can't you find me? I want you to find me."