March 2nd, 2021

Dear diary,

How are you supposed to start these things. Why am I doing this? Ugh.

Whatever. Hi, I'm Daisy.

Today Mom gave me, a weird tiny daughter, you, a weird tiny book. She said it would be a nice opportunity to "use up all that creativity" or something. It would be encouraging if it weren't undercut by some kind of expectation.

Mom probably hates me at this point. Last week she had to get me from the police station again. This time I was putting some paint down in one of those wet moldy tunnels a couple blocks from home. I'm not even good at art or anything, and I was mostly just writing my name and drawing boobs and vaginas. Mom said it was vulgar and overly sexual for my age, but is there any better way to visually dwell on the true origins of everything? I was just. So. Bored.

I must've been the dumbest 17-year-old to have managed to get caught in a town with a team of 10 cops total. It was Chuck Matthews too, the cop who found me. I hate his name and his face. But yeah, he was cruising along in his CVPI, like usual, except there was actually something to look at this time. He was doing his job for once, and I can respect that; a nice change of pace for the Chuckster. He still made me feel gross when he grabbed me though.

Anyway, why does creativity have to be legal? Isn't the whole point of it to break rules? Well, Mom thinks differently. She was just so proud of me for winning that writing competition. She thought it was a sign or something. Imagine a girl from nowhere, with an honorary criminal record, showing up thousands of old ladies and desperate scribblers. Well, to me, it only makes sense my ability to amuse myself with random bullshit ends up amusing other people. It's still hard to believe the cash though.

Twenty. Thousand. Dollars.

20,000.

What am I supposed to even do with that? Buy more spray paint? Go on a vacation? It's just... a lot.

Mags was thrilled about it though. Oh yeah! Maggie. Magdalena. I have to write something about her. Her name means bitterness, which doesn't match her at all. Her family originally lived in New York when she was younger, but they started working remotely from here to achieve something more "quiet" (They've mentioned it more than once). That's why she's one of the only black people in the town, which I think is really cool.

Mags is really smart. Like, insanely smart. She reads about so many different things and just... absorbs it. Biology, physics, philosophy, she just wants to know everything. I don't share all of her interests, but I like that she shares them with me. The other day she was explaining something about how sperm and eggs are made by the splitting of the chromosomes and the dividing of the cells (I'm not as smart as her, sorry), but she was so excited to tell me about it.

Not many people talk to Mags. I don't know if it's kids being racist or if it's something else. Maybe it puts people off that she's a bit quiet when I'm not around. Anyway, Mags, the jewel that she is, isn't exactly treated like a diamond. Kids even used to bully her. She's always been physically strong enough to fight back, but she never did; she's too nice. Sometimes, I'd see her usually shiny skin covered with splotchy dark bruises.

The first time I was actually there, it was a different story. That dumbass Walter didn't expect me to whack the shit out of him while he was focused on pulling her hair. Like, I may be short, but I can swing a hockey stick wicked. He freaked out and had his own set of bruises and bandages for several weeks, so people talked about it for a while. They called me the Daisaster; they still do. It isn't a terribly marketable nickname, but I'll take what reputation I can get. I was prepared for Mags to be mad about what I did to Walter, and she was for a while, but nobody hurt her again after that.

Anyway, Mags was excited to see I'd won something, and it felt good to have more to say to her for once. I was too embarrassed to tell her that I wrote about her though, except I changed her name to Angela. I just feel that, maybe it's weird to write about your best friend and then tell them about it. So I made something up about how I described a metaphor involving some biology she told me, which wasn't completely false. "You were listening" she said to me. She smiled too. She has this amazing smile, like the crashing of a wave in a high-budget movie.

Maybe I'll buy Mags more books. Like, $20,000 worth of paint and chalk is a lot, but textbooks are pretty expensive. Mags is good at pirating books, her thirst of knowledge leading to her own life of crime, but I know she prefers a hard copy when she can afford one. Also, it would be nice to make her even happier; I know she deserves it more than anyone else around.

I'm not gonna stop drawing on random walls or anything, but I guess I'll keep you around, book friend. There's a lot I'm not going to tell you, but this wasn't boring at all. Also, it could be fun to keep record of all the shit I get into. So yeah, we'll disappoint Mom and talk to Mags, like usual, but I'll write it down this time.

See you again soon.