Whoever said living in California was the dream lied through their fucking teeth. Or told the truth. Cause that’s all it is. A dream. I blame reality TV. Guess it was a good thing the old man banned television when he was alive, after all. I would’ve been even more deluded when I moved up here. Looking back, I’m not even sure why I did; why, of all the places I could’ve chosen to start a new life, I picked a desert.
A fucking expensive desert.
I don’t even know anyone one out here.
That is…until he comes along; the most handsome, most powerful, most intimidating man I’ve ever met, possessing eyes that burn right through my soul. He’s…perfect.
However, comma, there are three problems.
One: He’s not a man.
Two: I only see him in actual dreams.
And three…He commands an army of soul reapers.
Apparently, that’s just the beginning.
So, dear diary…and anyone who will listen:
What I’m saying is, tonight, I met the man of my dreams.