There are probably a lot of grammar and tense mistakes in the first fifteen chapters. I realize that. I was careless when I began this book, and now that I've finished it I'm working on those horrid mistakes. The tense is of the book is present tense but they're past tense verbs acciendly mixed in. Hopefully it's not too bad. I'm doing my best to edit this book ASAP. So enjoy ;P


Part One: How It All Began

Chapter One

I smell bleach in the room I walk into. It was an odd smell for an office but all mental institutes have the same smell.

The young women that sits at the wooden desk looks up and smiles. “Good morning Athena, take a seat.” She says in her calm sweet voice, after all it’s not like she has a choice. She was taught to be patient.

“Hi, my name is Doctor Johnson.” Johnson, such a simple, American name. Like all the therapists.

“Hello.” I mumble back. I’m not really that enthused whenever I met a new doctor/therapist. She isn’t any different from any other doctor I was forced to go to. They were all the same, all eleven of them.

“Athena, please tell why you were brought here today.” She asks in a very patient voice. I roll my eyes. “Doesn’t my referral tell you that?” I ask back. I’m getting annoyed quickly; after being through eleven therapists you wouldn’t judge me.

“Yes it does, but do you always believe what’s written on paper? I want to hear from you, what you think is wrong.” Now, this was the part I hate most; the explanation or what I like to call five minutes in hell.

I take in a deep breath and start. “I keep seeing invisible people or “ghost”. I see them almost everywhere and all the time.” The therapist processes what I said, nods, and then writes it down. The sound of her pen moving across the surface of the notebook paper is emphasized in my ears since it’s the only sound in the stale office. All I hear is that annoying sound. I ball my hands in fist, trying to control my sudden anger. My fingernails bite into the fabric of the chair.

After she stops writing she looks at me with a frown of her eyebrows. “I see past doctors have diagnosed you with schizophrenia. Do you think you have schizophrenia, Athena?” I have always hated therapists. They’re so calm and patient it makes me want to scream.

“Yes, it seems to be the only logical answer to me seeing dead people.” I retort rudely. I didn’t really mean to be rude; it’s just I hate having to explain my life story to every doctor.

“How do you feel when you see these ‘dead’ people?” She asks, making the ‘dead’ sound like she’s skeptical.

“Depressed, angst, misery, you name it. It all started when I was six. I started getting these nightmares about murderer. Every nightmare is so vivid, so realist. Then right after that I started to see ghost. Once I saw a ghost you start to feel their sorrow and depression. You know how depressed you get when you wanted something for so long and once you get the chance to get it or you have right in reach, it gets taken away from you? Well that’s how it feels but ten times worse. I try to cope by drawing these scenes that come to head and then destroying the drawings afterwards. So I never have to deal with the pain ever again. It helps a lot with the forgetting.” I take a deep breath to give the therapist time to think about the load I just dropped on her. I realized after the third therapist that all therapists and doctors need time to think about how they’re going to address and mentally unstable patient. Like me.

“Can I see these drawings?”

“NO!” I practically yell. Then I look down at my hands sheepishly as a silent apology for my sudden outburst.

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