Journal Entry Four
The Season on Panacea Island has begun. Only a few weeks in and my dignity has been stepped on more times than I care to count. The demands are endless. The tourists are like spoiled children who've never been told no. The word no isn't even in their vocabulary. Serving them is like trying to put out a wildfire with one teaspoon of water at a time. If I never had to step foot on this beach again to serve them, never had to see their tanned skin and perfect smiles ever again, or hear them bark out their orders... Well, I'd do almost anything for that. They're all insufferable. And my life is a living hell wrapped up in a pretty package. It's all a lie. But there's one. One tall, light-brown skinned tourist with blond-tipped curls. He writes in a journal almost all day long. He's confusing. One day he's nice, friendly, almost like he's flirting with me. He asks me to sit down next to him after I apply his sunscreen. I don't, of course. I can...