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Reader: Please note that this was written in one of my manic states of mind. Please don’t hold the contents of this story against me as a person. I am not a bad person. At least not in my own opinion.
I’ve always heard that when life gives you lemons that you should make a margarita. This is my margarita.
I waited for her to wake up, just sitting there watching her. Not in a creepy way. It was more in a way of gratitude and appreciation. My anticipation of telling her the great news that she was now a pet of mine of sorts was pumping adrenaline through my body.
started. It wasn’t like she was the first person to accuse me of being crazy. Still, it hurt my feelings a little bit. Nix that. It hurt a lot.
She would be the first to know how it all ended. Then, she would realize how great her position was. That’s when she would thank me. I just knew it and could feel it in my bones.
It has always been my belief that people are the real monsters
The truth is that people scare me. Reading a creepy book in a creepy setting was priceless.
What I wanted to do was cry. Instead, my emotions quickly evolved to anger. Yes, that’s a trait I’m not proud of. Sadness and anger border a thin line in my head.
People are scarier than demons, because people are very real and they’re everywhere.
(Okay, teeth aren’t bones. But I like saying tooth bone.)
But as with everything else, I put it off for as long as I could.
Maybe Stockholm Syndrome is real. Or maybe it was that she needed my pills for her next fix. Regardless.
Whatever organ or bone most people have to make them good people just wasn’t a part of my body. Not sure. I was just born this way.
