By the time I was 12 years old I had supposedly decided I'd had enough. I was moving,a lot on its own. Brown boxes littered the home full of the tainted memories I had borrowed so long ago.
I can't tell you why I did it,I'm still trying to find out myself.
The old paintings on the walls were dancers. Every perfect photo lined straight on those purple walls. They were grey to me,and the whole room was cold no matter how high the heater was set too.
That's when the voice came.
