The horrors of playtime co.

Chapter one: the arrival

I was at my aunt's house before, but then I wasn't anymore.

I remember the car.

I remember it was December and cold and I didn't like how everything felt different after that.

Then people kept talking and I didn't understand all of it, just pieces.

I remember I wasn't with my parents anymore.

And I kept thinking I would see them again if I waited right.

But I didn't.

Then I was somewhere else.

The orphanage.

St. Louis.

There were too many kids and too many sounds and I didn't know where to stand most of the time so I tried to stand in the same place or the same way or hold my things the same way so it felt right.

But it still didn't feel right.

My hands kept needing to fix things.

My clothes.

My bed.

My space.

If something felt wrong I couldn't stop thinking about it until I made it "right" again.

I didn't know how to stop it.

People said I was acting out.

I didn't know what that meant.

I just knew my chest hurt a lot when things changed or when I didn't know what was coming next.

Then there were more arguments.

I didn't want to fight.

I just didn't like things being moved or changed or taken without telling me.

Everything felt too loud even when nobody was yelling.

And then they said I had to go somewhere else.

Playtime Co.

I didn't know what that was.

I just knew I had to leave again.

And leaving always meant I was not staying anywhere long enough to make it feel right.

Now I'm in the car again.

I hold my bag tight because I don't want anything to fall or move or change while I'm not looking.

Outside the window everything goes past too fast and I try not to blink too much because I feel like if I miss something I won't know where I am.

The counselors talk sometimes but I don't listen to all of it.

I just wait for when the car stops.

Because cars always stop.

And when they stop, everything changes again.

The car stopped.

I didn't move right away because I wanted to be sure it really stopped and wasn't going to start again. My hands were still tight on my bag and I held it close because it felt safer like that.

The door opened.

Cold air came in and I looked up.

It was big.

Really big.

I had to look all the way up and it made my neck feel stiff and weird.

The counselors told me to get out, so I did.