The 3rd Entry

 For those who have difficulty reading cursive, I've provided a clear, printed version below.

I went back to Lake Winona today still trying to wrap my head around what I saw. It’s been a few days since that night and I can’t shake the feeling. I stood on the shore, hoping to hook whatever it was. I cast my line into the same spot, convinced I’d feel that big pull again, but all I got was silence. No bites, just weeds and a few small fish that barely made it worth my time. I kept telling myself it was probably just a big fish, nothing more than that. But the memory keeps nagging at me. I stood there for hours, casting and reeling, but the lake was dead. No strange shapes, no big pulls, just the same old water I’ve fished in a million times. I want to catch something, anything, to prove I’m not losing my mind over this. I’ll be back tomorrow, same spot, same line, hoping to figure out if I really saw something or if it was all in my head.

    This entry shows how deeply the sighting has affected him. Days later, he's still haunted by the memory, returning to the same spot in hopes of catching whatever he felt. The contrast between his past experience and the reality of catching “just weeds and a few small fish” highlights his frustration. The lake feels eerily unchanged, leaving him isolated with his thoughts. The silence of the water taunts him, pushing him to keep trying, reflecting a growing obsession. It’s a desperate search for proof, blurring the lines between reality and doubt.