Clumbsy.
Careless.
Thoughtles.
Trapped.
Trapped like a street-rat in a big Book's trap. I'd been doing pretty well too, but a rat without a hole to crawl back to is just waiting for a big, armor-wearing cat to come and catch it. Oracle brought me my journal the other day, and he snuck out again and brought me some ink today. They haven't done a very good job of catching him, obviously. He slips into my cell when there's no one else around. I never noticed how warm my little gwee was before, but I've been paying alot more attention to things like that recently. Jeeze, it's good to write, even if it means risking that they'll find my journal. Oracle's tugging on my sleeve, which is Gwee Speak for, "Why are you sitting so still? Why are you writing so much? I'm worried about you, let me lay in your lap for awhile." So I'll let him, of course.
It's really quiet in here. It's pretty cold too. But the worst part is that a couple days ago I think I figured out how I ended up here. Remember those orphans? Well, they had an old lady with them, and I think I'd nicked something off her before, so what does she do? Rat on the rat, that's what.
I don't know how long I've been here, but I have figured out one thing.
If Oracle can get in and out, then so can I, so can I...
It's only a matter of time.
