“Sammy, come out here!”
“Yeah, mom, in a minute.” He pulled a fresh notebook off the shelf.
“You’re going to miss everything!”
“Well then I guess I’ll be disappointed for like two seconds!” He tried to block out the sounds of her nagging; the light from the meteor lit the room from the wrong direction like an eerie second sun, and he began to write:
Dear diary journal,
Literal end of the world and the Parents still won’t let me take the Jag out for a spin. Worst. Apocalypse. Ever. At least I’ll never have to retake that test in
Author’s Note: Have you ever seen someone in such a mood that you’re sure even the end of the world couldn’t budge them?
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