Jill Gabriel, November 16, 2008
Dear Journal, today is my fifteenth birthday. I just got this new journal, from my brother Alan. He says I need to write in it because it's therapeutic. He's insane. I don't need therapy. But I don't want to hurt his feelings and tell him that this is a stupid gift, so I'll use it for him.
Alan: if you are reading this, this diary was a stupid gift. Just to let you know, since you always say that honesty is the best policy. And stop reading my diary, you asshole.
Now that that's over with, I should describe myself in case I ever get amnesia and, for some reason, have nothing but this journal on me. Somehow.
Your name, amnesia-affected self, is Jill Gabriel. You are fifteen on November sixteenth, 2008. You live in Gotham City. You have shoulder-length deep brunette hair and brown eyes. You have a brother named Alan, who is a jerkass at times, and has blond hair and pretty blue eyes that you wish you had. You have a mother named Jillian who has blond hair and green eyes, and a father named Alexander who has brunette hair and blue eyes. They live in Metropolis, and their phone number is 774-2692. Call them now and tell them that you don't know your name and that you need help.
You also have a best friend named Helen Fuchs. She is sixteen and has pretty blond hair that you also wish you had. She also has very dark eyes that look black that you are glad you do not have. If mama and dad are not home, call her instead; she'll come bitch to you about her obsessions, since you can't remember hearing them before and will therefore not scream at her to shut the fuck up about them.
Back to the journal part: today is my birthday. I live with Alan in our small apartment and go to high school, like everyone else does. Alan is twenty-five. He's a good guy, works hard, wants me to stay living with him in Gotham instead of uprooting and moving to Metropolis with our parents. I want to stay here too, so I'm good with it. I think I have to stay, if only to take care of Helen.
It'll sound weird, creepy people reading my diary, but even though she's much prettier than me, and has lots of friends, she really only hangs out with me. Why? Because I'm the only one that'll listen to her go on and on about her crush. You're thinking, 'Oh, it's some high school guy, or maybe some actor she'll never meet'. Something normal like that.
Helen won't shut up about the new up-and-coming Public Enemy Numero Uno. Yeah, she's got a crush on the fucking Joker. She won't shut up about him, either; it started out a little weird, but tolerable; who hasn't had a bit of a thing for someone that they'll NEVER EVER MEET, EVER? I thought she'd get over it.
It's been a solid week of, "Oh, did you see the Joker bomb this?" Or "Hey, Jill! Look at this picture in the newspaper, isn't he sooooo hawt?"
But other than that neurose, she's pretty awesome. We hang out all the time, and when she's not going on about the Joker, we talk and laugh and stuff. Best friend I ever had.
Well, I suppose this should be enough for today. Helen and I are going to hang out later on a birthday joyride, maybe have some fun.