I'm not crazy.
Probably.
Possibly.
I think.
Apparently I'm delusional, suicidal, mentally scarred, schizophrenic, and more, according to them. I'm "bordering on the line of insanity."
And of course, I'm depressed.
"Poor boy," They say. "Poor child. He probably will never get better."
I've been marked as a "Lost Case."
The truth is I don't care.
Death doesn't sound so bad to me anymore.
At least the ghosts will leave me alone...
Every night the ghosts come to me.
They whisper things to me, refuse to leave me alone.
Soon you'll be one of us.
There is no escape.
The pain... It is unbearable...
Mercy! Mercy!
They call me "king" and beg for me to help them, but I don't know what they mean, or what they're talking about.
No one believes me.
Maybe I am crazy.
