It must have been Violentina.  I do not know where she is now.  I think she is hiding.  She is scared to see me.  I need to find her.

I need to find Violentina.  I need to know what happened to me.

I need to.

A lot has happened, but now is not the time to write about it.  Violentina is only feet away from me.  She will see what I am writing.  I am still convinced she knows what I am thinking.  As I write, I am trying not to think.  It is getting harder and harder.

She told me she is going to go explore the outdoors tomorrow.  Once she leaves, I will write back to you.  I have so much to tell you.  I have been seeing a lot of things with my eyes closed.  A lot of different colors in tiny balls.  I do not know what it is.  I do not know how else to describe.  But, I am sure it means something.  Now is not the time.  Tomorrow will be the time.  I promise.

She started telling me the story of how she lost her arms.  She was playing with her brother.  They were running around the world.  It became a race.  She was beating her brother.  That made her brother really mad.  So, he used all his energy to zoom past her and he karate chopped her left arm.  Swiftly, her left arm was no longer attached to her.  The brother laughed.  She cried, but continued running.  She was starting to slow down because her tears were everywhere around her globe face.  The brother second lapped her and karate chopped her right arm.  Just as her left arm, her right arm disappeared.  The brother laughed.  She stopped running.  And that is the story of how she lost her arm.

She is nice.  She talks a lot.  She has a lot to say.  She has been everywhere in the world.  Everywhere.  She asked why I have never left this house.  I did not know the answer.  I remained silent.  She changed the subject almost instantly.

I do not know her name.  She has told me a lot of times, but I always forget.  I just call her Violentina.  She responds to that name.  She responds to any name.  She is always listening.  Sometimes, I think she can read my mind.  Whenever I am thinking sad thoughts, she tells me, “Do not think such sad thoughts.  You have been in this house forever.  You do not know what sadness is.”

She always tells me that I do not know what sadness is.  Maybe she is right.

I am always alone.  It does not bother me, though.  I do no know what it feels like to not be alone.  I have never been with another person.  I think I am the only person left here.

I have never seen how I looked.  There is no mirrors in this house.  I try finding my reflection with the large spoon I found in this cabinet.  I can never pinpoint my face.  It all looks so magnified.  Maybe my face is really big.  I just do not know.

I have read every single book in this house.  There are hundreds and thousands of books in here.  The second story of this house is full of nothing but books.  Covering every single topic, I have learned how to read and write from these books.  But, I knew how to write ever since I have been here.  I think I was born writing.  I do not know, maybe I am lying.

There is always music playing in this house.  I do not know where it comes from.  It is instilled in the walls, so it seems.  I like it.  I do not know what kind of music it is.  Some times, the sounds make me get up and dance around the house.  Other times, the sounds make me cry.  Every sound is different.  I have never heard the same song twice.

There is a big piano in one of the rooms.  I press the keys ever so softly.  The noise it makes can either be soothing or not so soothing.  I think I am learning how to play better.  My ears do not ring anymore when I play.  My fingers get tired, though.  I always have to take short breaks while I am pressing the keys.  I am getting better, though.

I found a typewriter the other day.  A stack of paper was placed right next to it.  I have been living here my entire life, and I still find new things in here every single day.  The typewriter looks really cool.  I do not know how to use it, though.  I am going to start teaching myself today.

Maybe I can start writing with that so my hands will not hurt anymore.  My hands are already cramping.

A sad song is playing right now.  I feel the need to cry.  I am not sad, but I feel the need to be sad.

I am going to be sad now.  I will write back in this journal when I am done teaching myself how to use this typewriter.

“And I saw the pathway, but it was too far away.  What remained close was actually farther away.  I looked beside me and I was alone.  Nothing ever happens now.”

“The Lucksmiths crafted some of the most brilliant pop songs EVAR.  I don’t know why I’ve been listening to them so much recently.” -a text I received from Trevor Reagan.

The next step was coming up with a name.  That is when Andres thought of the name, A Storybox.  Personally, that is the perfect name to this project.  It explains this project to the T.

I am a huge music enthusiast, mainly for local and indie bands.  Making mix CDs for people I know and dont know excites me so much.  It is as if I am opening the doors and letting them enter this world full of music.  Good music, that is.

In anything I do, I always try to include some writing and creative aspect.  I have quite the imagination, so writing short stories suites me well.  Each storybox is different.  Meaning, each story will be different.  It will keep my mind and imagination busy.

All of this is for the listener.  Everything free of charge, I feel as if this is the one project that I will remain loyal to.  However, in order to get started, I’ll need your help.  It’s almost as if I am gaining pen pals from all over the world by giving them a storybox.

It’s time for your storybox to get created.

All the information for receiving a storybox is in the About A Storybox page.

Till then, may the soundtrack of your life bring you happiness.