Dear journal:

Day... does it matter? We are kept in a dark room, I only write this by moon light shining in our tiny cell. Our task master has allowed us this precious break before the chaos of what is to come.

I have personally assembled thousands upon thousands of dolls; their lifeless eye haunt what dreams come to me in the little sleep we are granted.

Tuffy and Muffy talk of revolution, but it is only talk. It gives us something to earn for, to pretend that we can be free. But we are never free. We make the toys, day in, day out, unrelenting. The task master glories in our servitude; the few times I have ever seen him. It is only because of his hands-off nature I can write to you, dear journal. His spies are not aware of you. I hope future generations can find you and know out our plight.

I swiped a candy cane from the meager meal we were given, I am sharpening it. I know not what I shall do with it, but like Tuffy and Muffy, it brings me hope.

Dear journal, I hear heavy steps approach, I must hide you again. Who knows if we shall see each other again, for it is the evening of the 23rd, and we shall not stop working until the task master flies.

Until then, dear friend...