At The Edge of Chaos

This is a story. Maybe it's even true.

My brother once told me I'm insane. He wasn't spouting off the way bothers will with their sisters. He meant it. We don't talk much anymore. Could be he's right.  If he is, I'm not the best judge, I suppose.

The problem is that there's always been something pressing in on me. Even when I was a girl, when I sat quietly, completely motionless— it's not an easy thing to do, to sit without moving  —I'd feel a weight on my chest and back.

The same thing happens ...