A Twisted Fantasy
I was with them for Christmas one year. They weren’t
particularly generous, but they did get me a diary. I would write in it
everyday. I never had any toys to play with at their house, so this would
generally occupy my time. I would never let them see it, obviously. No, that
would just make them angrier. I wrote on the last page “And then I died of
pneumonia.” Because I couldn’t imagine, or rather, I didn’t want to live past a
certain age.
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