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When I was little, mom used to tell me a fairytale in which when a fight between good and evils occurs, the good one wins.

The little me never stop in believing those stories. Especially the part when a princess is been attacked by the evil, a knight in shining armour will come and save her.

I miss the old me. I wish I can make the old me come back. I want the normal me.


A word that might bring the slightest change in my life if I had it. That word may seem empty to others, but not me. It's a word that is and always be far beyond my reach. Something that I tried so hard to be.

I feel as if I'm in a story which doesn't have a beginning or an end. It's like I was walking on an endless road. A dark road with no lights to show me the correct way. It was as if I'm lost.

Now that I'm eating those pills according to the right schedule, the delusions and voices had stopped to my relief. I hope it lasts longer.

"Sarah?" Mom's soft hand touch mine, turning my gaze from the food on the dining table to her. Her touch always soothes me.

"Is everything okay? You didn't touch your food."

A soft smile reaches my lips.

"I'm fine." I can see a frown surface on her face from the way I said those words. There's a glint of worry in her eyes. During the whole dinner, I was quiet. I was actually dying to ask her about everything but I was scared of her reaction, her judgement.

"Sarah Wayne. Don't make me said your middle name,"

Ugh, I hate my middle name.

"Its nothing."

"Sarah." She said my name in a motherly tone.

"Fine." I took my courage and look at her. "It's about-" I fiddled with my fingers.

She gave me an impatient look, "About what? Spit it out."

"This necklace. Where did you get it?" I hang up the pendant in front of her.

"From your grandmother. Why are suddenly bring it up?" She raised her eyebrow.

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Of course I'm telling you the truth. It's been in our family for a long time. My grandmother gave it to my mom when she was your age. When I was born and become old enough, she gave it to me. The same thing happens to you."


"Is that it?" She asked.

"No, there's more,"

I slipped my hand into the pocket of my hoodie and took out the shredded newspaper article. The one that I took from the library that contains a photo of her classmates and Mr Miller, her teacher aka Andrew the vampire.

She gasped a little when she saw the photo but then smiled. "Is that a picture of my classmates? Oh my god, look how fast time flies. I was your age when this photo was taken."

I shrugged. "Guess that already."

"Where did you get this photo?"

"Um somewhere." I scratched the back of my neck. She doesn't have to know how I really get it. "Anyway- this person," I pointed at Andrew. "Do you know who he is?" I asked, testing her.

"Of course I knew him. He was my history teacher. We called him Mr Miller."

"How well do you know your teacher?"

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