journal entry

So last week I died.

That's what they tell me, and considering the reaction my being back has gotten, I think it's true. Except I remember nothing about being dead--I remember not being able to breathe and then I remember Jack whacking me on the chest. If something else happened--but I guess it did.

And all I have of Bartleby is the rucksack he brought with him to the island, the only thing that convinced me he wasn't just a dream.

I want him to come home. I want to touch him again and see if that makes me feel like I'm awake yet.