Rotten
On my first day of middle school I got made fun of.
The children called me
Freak show
Midget
They called me eight.
I’m not eight. I’m twelve.
But now I’m thirty, and I laugh.
I laugh because they won’t ever hurt me again. They are… gone. Gone, gone, gone. What a funny word.
I laugh more at the funny word. People call me crazy, I’m not.
I’m righteous.
Those people deserved to die, they hurt me.
I laugh some more.
They won’t hurt me if they’re dead.
Mommu and Daddy call me the angel child.
I am righteous.
Those people deserved what they got.
I laugh some more.
People are scared of me.
That‘s Okay.
At least they’re not mean.
Else they’d have to be... Punished.
I wonder if those who walk past me on the street whisper to their neighbor about me.
I‘m just fabulous like that.
I laugh some more.
Why did they put me here? These white walls are too bright. They hurt my eyes.
Mom! Dad! Where are you? I scoff at myself. Still thirty and calling for my parents. But much like my outer self, I never lost that childish part of me.
I love to play games.
But no one wants to play with me. I wonder if they are scared by the rotted bodies of their successors.
I laugh some more.
Games are such fun.