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Pen Your Pride

The Dying Boy ✔

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May 16th, 2010

My name is Vincent, and I am a normal teenage boy.

Well, that is, if every normal boy tried to kill himself at the age of 16 with a butter knife.

Let's just say, it didn't turn out very well for me or the knife.

Because of that, my parents sent me to Soothing Sunshine Facility for Special Cases, a mental health boot camp that just opened nearby in hopes that it could "cure me of all my issues and they'd finally have their little girl back".

You read that right. I'm a guy trapped in a girl's body, and I'm not happy about that.

Today is just day zero, though. Let's see if I can manage to keep my sanity here.


May 17th, 2010

My hands are shaking as I write this entry. When my parents checked me in the evening before, I was given this journal as a welcoming present. But now, it may be the only thing keeping me sane. This whole institution is fucked-up. I just don't know how to explain it, but it's true.

From the outside, everything seems so nice. I'm fed three times a day. I have a nutritional consultant, an exercise consultant, and a therapist. Oh, and a tutor, too. There are other kids like me here, too, and no one seems outwardly miserable, but the noises at night. They scare me.

I'm not sure how to describe them because I have never heard anything quite like it before. But it made me feel so violated, as if someone was inside my bed with me. I felt sick all night long and it wasn't until the sun rose did the feeling dissipate. I tried to sleep in, but I couldn't.

Now, I should try to sleep again. I see my roommate stirring, and I don't want him to wake up. If he finds out that I'm staying up past curfew, I could get in serious trouble with my therapist.

Wish me luck.

- Vincent


May 18th, 2010

Last night, it seemed like I was finally going to get a good night's rest. Then I heard a loud scream. It sounded like it belonged to someone I met recently. Another boy, who just like me was trapped in the wrong body. He called himself Justin, but everyone else refused to call him that.

At breakfast this morning, he was not present. No one asked about him. No one even noticed. It seemed like I was the only one who cared about his disappearance. And when my therapist checked up on me in the afternoon, she could see it in my eyes. She knew. She fucking knew.

It took all of my willpower to not explode at her. More than anything, I wanted to wipe that smug grin off her face. I bet she was the one to kill Justin. And if I'm not careful, she'll kill me, too.

Wish me luck.

- Vincent


May 19th, 2010

I tried asking around about Justin, but everyone I asked acted like he never existed. I did everything I could to jog their memories, recalling anecdotes and personality traits, yet no one knew who I was talking about. They all thought I was going crazy. Every. Last. Person.

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