It was four weeks after the funeral when Reyna finally opened the journal her grandpa had left for her. She had decided that this year, she wouldn’t do anything for her birthday. No one had suggested plans. She wasn’t even sure anyone would remember. She didn’t really mind.
This felt better.
If anything, reading the journal felt like the only gift she wanted this year, other than her Grandpa, if she could even bring herself to open it. That was how she ended up sprawled across her bed, tissues scattered beside her, the journal resting in her hands, music playing softly through her headphones. She wasn’t sure where her parents were, but it didn’t matter.
This was hers. Her grandpa had made that clear. For her. Only her. That was what her grandpa had said, and she would cherish that fact that she was special enough to receive it.
The pages were ancient. The spine was cracked. Each time she turned a page it smelled faintly of herbs and ink. The first entry was dated from 10 years ago. The most recent one was undated but it couldn’t have been more than a year ago. He knew he was dying. And all this time he had never said anything. Her grip tightened on the journal.
That was why he had been more careful lately. More intentional. More vigorous. Making sure she understood things the first time. Watching her more closely.
He hadn’t just been teaching her. He had been preparing her. He was passing on his legacy. To her. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She was not just incredibly grateful, but honored to be receiving this.
As she continued flipping page through page she came across something peculiar. Marks, ink scratched out, pages missing, faint burn scars that didn’t belong to their age or time. Ten pages in, she found a clean ripped out page, leaving only a jagged corner behind. The edges were dark, like they had been burned. As she leaned closer, trying to make out the words she saw one word: child.
Her breath caught. What was this journal? Clearly this was not just his regular old journal. No, this journal contained things. Something about this felt wrong. Important. Dangerous. Scary. Why were pages ripped out? Why were things burned? Questions flitted through her mind faster and faster and her heartbeat picked up. Whatever it was, she needed to keep this journal close to her at all times. She could not risk anything.
So Reyna took a deep breath and flipped back to the first page.She would read more carefully this time. She wouldn’t miss a single word. She couldn’t.

THE JOURNAL OF JOHN KIM
the majority of this made up... i tried to make it as realistic as possible but bear with me and use some imagination