Disclaimer: I don't own the MR characters, I am not JP, and I am not pretending to be.
Everyone says I talk too much. They think the scientists at the school messed me up, in my head. I hear them talking. Jeb, when I was so much younger, even said that I would always be a little different. Ter Borcht, that jerk from h-e-double-toothpicks, said something "clearly went wrong with my thought processes". Well, I know that something was wrong from the very beginning. I remember, even if everyone else forgets, because I was autistic. That's why the scientists took me as a two-year-old baby and started poking around in my brain trying to connect my rational thoughts to my emotions and vocal cords. They didn't count on me starting to talk in full sentences with an adult's vocabulary before I was even three.
I sometimes think that might be what captured Jeb's attention, more than Max kicking a white-coat in the ribs hard enough to break through to their lungs when she was six or Fang changing the color of his wings at will before settling on black. Funny how no one remembers those things anymore, except me. And maybe Angel, if she's ever decided to look in my mind. But she told me once that since I say so much all the time, she only ever looks into my head when she thinks I'm breathing so quietly she's not sure if I'm asleep or dead. I guess I should be glad she doesn't have to share my pain.
I know what I say doesn't always make sense, and I can rant and go on and on, but just because people can hear my words and see my lips moving doesn't mean that they're actually listening. And why should they? I'm only eleven.
I'm only a little girl, who can't understand.
I'm only the reason that everyone is still alive.