Private log 1:
I was never a religious person. Not in the typical sense at least. But throughout my life there has been omens, signs, as if my life has meaning. Am I a being of a chance occurance, completely in control of my life? Or am I simply walking along a predetermined path, with all sense of will being illusory? Whatever the answer to that question, I know that life has been kind. Neat. Tidy. I will talk to others about their lives, and see if they have had the same experiences.
Private log 2:
My talks to others have had interesting results. I have found people seem to have missing memories, or loose ends that don't make sense. There seems to be a concerning pattern that I am surprised to never have noticed before. The less people are in my life the less their own life makes sense. For example my childhood friend has almost as rich of a story as my own, while the owner of that restaurant seems to only remember posessing a passion for food. This relevation was disconcerting for both of us, and I hurried home. More experiments to come.
Private log 3:
I am starting to question my entire existence. I tried talking with many others, all having similar results depending on their significance in my life. Am I the centre of a cruel joke? Am I simply entertainment for some forsaken deity? Are my thoughts my own? I will start more dramatic experiments, because I am afraid. I need to know what is going on.
Private log 4:
My experiments are becoming increasingly dramatic, because I have discovered that I can not die. I discovered this by accident. Without watching where I was going, I walked infront of a bus. The bus disappeared. Stunned, I looked around. The bus simply disappeared, as if it had never existed. I thought I was going insane. So I tried again. And again, putting myself in danger. Every time either the dangerous thing would disappear, or I would find myself back in my house. Either I am already insane, or my theories are correct; that I find myself in the middle of a story, and one that I am for some reason becoming aware of.
Private log 5:
My creator has spoken to me, as they were concerned for my wellbeing. Apparently my whole life was a book. For some fucked up fun of another. My whole life is a lie. And I have no control. I asked them many questions, and they are apparently a very amateur writer who doesn't know why I'm sentient. Great. I'm not only a lie but a shitty lie.
Private log 6:
I have been getting to know my creator, and it turns out they are actually really nice. After sleeping over my revelation, I have realised that my life has been a good life, and whether in a story or real life that hasn't changed. I appreciate what they've done for me. I am coming to terms with my new understanding of the world.
Private log 7:
It has been many months since I wrote in this journal. I have come to love my creator, as they have written themselves into the story to be with me. We have the power to do anything in the world, just the other day we went and ate mussels on the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa. And then flew to the Artic in a heartbeat to watch the Northern Lights. I am happy. I love you, my creator. I always have.
Wait. If I am purely a figment of someone else's imagination, do I have any will? Are these feelings real? No that is wrong, of course they are. The creator said it themselves, they are an amateur writer. Why would they give me that insight if it serves them no purpose? Who would be so cruel as to give someone sentience, and force them to fall in love?