Data Entry: Project Mot Journal Entry
Douglas stumbled through the hall leaving his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palms. Somehow he made it to the kitchenette without bumping into the walls too much. With the kettle set to boil on the stove, Douglas instinctively stood by the sunroom where the windows were ceiling to floor overlooking the foggy shore ahead.
The night took a toll on him, Mr. Priest had returned and he spent the dark hours hunched over bleeding words into the journal of Project Brontes. Sleep had been an elusive companion recently. The stories and memories always finding themselves when he least wanted them.
The kettle whistled sharply, pulling Douglas from his revie. He watched mutely as the steaming rose above the mug as the water sent the tea leaves swirling. All of the stress that was pent up soothed away as he took the mug in both hands, letting himself soak in the warmth through the pottery.
With mug in hand, he left the kitchen for the sun room that overlooked the coast. Ink dyed waves crashed against the sandy shore and greying clouds clung to the horizon threatening a storm. Douglas gave little care and placed the mug on a small table beside the threadbare armchair he prefered. A journal sat beside the mug, on the cover was scratched WRAITH in a hurry. His story didn’t hurt as much as the others, and on some occasion, brought a faint chuckle to Douglas.
The stories always came, one way or another. His home was now littered with journals filled with their lives. Some stories Douglas would wish to forget or to never have known, but it's almost comforting, to know their freedom following their escape. This was his gift, to know.