They still whisper about me. Most of them don't even bother to lower their voice when I'm nearby. You would think that after eight years they would find something else to talk about. Although, I suppose when you're locked up in a mental hospital with no real connection to the outside world, there isn't much else to talk about. Most of the other patients are so drugged up or have been through one too many electric shock therapy sessions and can scarcely remember their own name; but they remember my story.
I can't blame them, I guess; the story is quite unusual. A ten-year-old girl follows a white...
continue reading...
