I was brought to a press conference today.
The Minister's wife laid out my best robes and told be to wash my face. I'm not 2.
The conference was awful.
You were all was happy that He was dead, that all his people are gone. You were all smiling and laughing.
You still won't say his name.
You're still too scared.
I'm not scared.
I'm not much anymore, just hollow.
I miss everyone who cared about who I was, not what I am
I want those people back, not you, not this crowd of reporters
Do you wanna be be somebody else, are you sick of feeling so left out
That's how I feel now. I wish someone else had this glory, this fame.
I wish that I had my friends; that I knew my parents; that I was happy
Are you desperate to find something more, before your life is over?
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?
Are you sick of everyone around, with the big fake smiles and stupid lies, while deep inside you're bleeding?
No you don't know what it's like, when nothing feels alright
You don't know what it's like to be like me
You won't go away. You won't leave me alone. I went for a walk, and there were 50 of you who staring at me as I turned the corner. Before I got back to the Minister's house, your reporters were swarming me, wanting to talk to me.
I ran.
I can't talk to you.
You don't care about me, you just want something to print.
I wish I could find the one person who cared enough to save me.
Why hasn't he came forward?
There have been enough stories about him, he'd be famous.
Maybe, he's like me.
Maybe he doesn't want fame.
Maybe he's dead.
A/N: some one needs to let me know if they want the end of this story