Cassy. That was what he had called her. She had called him Will. He started to think of the day where he had came downstairs after just waking up and had said "Good morning Cassy." She had been surprised and thrilled when he had first called her that. She had loved that name. He reached the main floor in a daze and got out the cereal. The purple bowl he took from a shelf had pink hearts inside the thick black ring that was winding around the top of the bowl. It had green dots scattered around the bowl, just not in the ring. That had also been Cassy's favorite. He poured the cereal in the bowl and got some milk from the refrigerator. He let it spill down around the cereal and grabbed the oar spoon. He dipped the spoon into the cereal and started to eat. After the first three bites he stood up, put on his Nike sneakers, and walked outside. He collected the various papers that were out there and came back inside. He took the papers out of their plastic bags, which were wet due to last nights rain, and unfolded a section. He found an article that looked interesting and started to read. When he was done eating, he took his bowl and put it on the counter above the dishwasher. He had not yet unloaded the clean dishes, he would do that later. He walked upstairs and, just as his tears had dried, he looked to the left, as he was coming up the stairs this time not going down, and his eyes filled with tears again. He stared at the two precious objects for a while longer and then continued up the stairs. The third level was nothing much, just his work area. It had used to be his attic but, after hiring a man to make a real floor, he had turned it into a place where he could work. He had his black computer on one desk to the right and another desk to the left that had paper, pencils, a pencil sharpener, anything that a writer needed. There was a restroom branching off to the back right of the room. Every morning, Will would come up here and write, three paragraphs to a page to five pages of journal. He expressed all his thoughts and feelings. He kept them in a large cabinet next to the writing desk. He took a few sheets of paper from the stack after he sat down at the desk across the room from the computer. After he put the date at the top left of the page, he started to write about his health, his story, and most of all, Cassy. He filled up one page, two pages, three pages. And still he wrote about his feelings. When he had filled up seven pages, he leaned back in his chair and decided that he had completed his journal. He simply felt that there was nothing else to be said. He then put the journal away in the file that said October 2002 and went down to the second floor, taking his blue pen with him.