"My name is Angela Hope; Angel for short. I am sitting in a random motel room, on my twenty-fifth birthday, about to write to...,"
Angel paused and set the pen down and sat back in her chair as she contemplated this thought. "Hmff," she muffled aloud, then continued to write
"...myself I suppose, in an old beat up journal that I have somehow managed to keep with me after all this time. I've never even opened it until now..."
Angel looked at the journal, smirking sentimentally, folded the book closed and examined every inch of its torn wrinkled peeling cover. A twinge of comfort came over her. She smiled and reopened the tattered journal, revealing its surprisingly crisp unwritten pages and said, "You've been a good companion old friend."
Angel flipped back to the first page where she had begun to write just moments ago. Angel began to sift through the cobweb filled rolodex of old memories within the depths of her mind. Finally, she picked up the pen once more and began to write;
