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||This article has been nominated for a name change to Angela's journal.|
This would mean the article would be in the main namespace, subject to regular searches, and considered canon.
To discuss the proposed name change, see the discussion page.
When she was younger, Angela kept a journal.
Every single one of is different. No two are alike.
Times like these, cliches can be comforting.
I can see more than most that we aren't the same.
Not even sure if we are exactly created equal.
I do know that we all have different purposes.
The problem with purposes is that we never really know what they are until the time comes.
When Adam showed his true intentions, my instinct said that you were the one Mindy.
And since you aren't the only one who doesn't fully understand your gifts...
I'll have faith.
A devastating night.
We lost one of our best and brightest—a tragedy, which carried on into my dreams. There's no rest for the weary, even in slumber. Whoever said prescience is a gift?
Pulsing red light. Klaxons. White noise, and a woman in a white coat, running. Time and space are rippling, dangerous.
And a date—
January 3, 1973
All I know is something must be done to avert total disaster. Hopefully, time will tell us what must be done.