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A Letter From CampDear Mom and Dad,
Camp is going pretty well so far. I'm in a cabin with five other girls. Most of the other cabins have six, but Annie died of dysentery from drinking too much well water. They really shoulda put the outhouse farther away from the pump. Don't be too alarmed, nobody liked her anyways. I took her mattress and used it to make my bed comfier. Jane broke her arm but Sally and me made her a cast out of paper-mache. It turns out the paper we used was some important operation license or something. The counselor got really mad. But we just gave her some of those little white pills the director always takes when he wants to feel better. What's a ketamine? It worked really well, so we took the pills back to the cabin and gave them to our friends. The hike was so much fun! We couldn't stop giggling. But when we god back, Cindy twisted her ankle or something, and it was bleeding a lot, so Kelly cut off the whole foot. We took her foot
Who Am I?Who Am I?
I am the girl wanting to fit in,
Who doesn't want to be bullied everyday she goes to school.
The girl others call weird for no reason,
The girl people speak to as if she is retarded.
I am the girl with few friends,
Because I have been betrayed by others,
So therefore doesn't want to risk being betrayed and hurt again.
They called me names I now ignore,
But still try to steal my things to get a reaction from me,
I can't take it so I go to the one place I know I'm safe from them.
When school ends they follow me back,
Making me paranoid.
I know I cannot run,
So I stop in place until they walk in front of me.
I am the girl who likes strange things,
The things being the only thing to get me through the day.
Yet these things most people don't know.
When I get home and am asked how school was,
I shrug and just say ok.
I go to the computer for hours writing to get away from life.
When I finally get off and go to bed,
The voices in my head never stop,
Telling me how worthless and usel
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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