"It's all in your head…"
'W.h/y' in a distorted voice of a child sounding as if shattered, and it might as well have been since his father has ceased to live this very night. The cold, cruel veil of mist beneath this moon is the only comfort that is caste upon him.
How completely terrifying.
Young one, no one can hear you nor will anyone answer you. Because…no one can. Not in this forsaken purgatory.
This…"death" you speak of can never be truly defined.
Many times in my life have people made me of the murderer of many and many times have I pleaded innocent to their accusations. I have been enrolled in prisons, therapy sessions, and asylums, but none have been able to help me.
…
I do not need help. I am fine with my friend. My one…and only…friend.
M
r.
P/
i
.c
Kk
l
.
e
s
He won't hurt me. He won't hit me on the head with beer bottles or smack me when I refuse to come to him. He won't force me to undress in front of him and his friends nor will he ever succumb to a demonic presence if I ever utter the words "no".
It hurts. And yet I feel so comfortable in my numb interior. Let everyone else do the talking, I'll be right here.
We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are.
