Lost Minds

1

As I grab the last assignment from my biology teacher, I skip down the stairs, in a hurry to go home.

As I walk towards the exit, the boy from earlier stands there, staring down at his phone, his curly black hair flopping on to his face.

He's new. It's too much of a small school to not recognize new faces.

He looks up and our eyes meet. I keep my eyes on his, as he does mine while I walk out of the school. I begin my earshot of a walk home, turning my head back one more time to see his silent glare trained on me.

He doesn't know yet so I'll let him off. I'll give him a couple days to adjust to the school environment, before I do anything. It's only fair.

A smile tugs on my face as the late summer sun is covered by the only clouds in the clear sky.

He could be my next playmate if he can keep up with his shit. Megan's getting a bit stale. Same tricks for an old pony. Shaking my head, I chuckle.

I make it to my house after 15 or so minutes, as I live three blocks away from the school. I open the unlocked door and make my way upstairs. They know not to lock it, especially since they want to avoid all contact with me.

I hop down on my bed, kicking off my scandals and laying down on my queen sized, blue covered throne. I open my Mac and click resume to the serial killer documentary I had been watching the night before.

Men and women who have gone out of their way to take away someone else's life. Goosebumps trail up my arm and the pounding of my heart quickens. The ever present hunger within me churns.

Necromania. An obsession with death.

My blood boils when I think of the power people have to end other's lives.

Ever since I was little, I knew something wasn't right in me. In my head. I was 5, the day I came up to my parents with the dead stray neighborhood cat in my hands.

I had the biggest smile on, explaining to them I had taken care of the cat they hated so much. Pride swelled in my chest as showed them it's bloody smashed-in head.

They took me to a psychiatrist the next day. There they diagnosed me with a mild case of psychosis. Nothing that would greatly impact my normal life. Only, the way I thought of things would be different than normal people.

The specialist told my parents I would be violent, have irrational thoughts at times, potentially dangerous, experience paranoia, and see delusions. The basic stuff anyway.

I saw the devastated look on my parents faces and didn't understand at the time, that this was when they would abandon me.

They got me on pills, took me the psychiatrist from time to time and branded me as a nut case.

They emotionally distanced themselves from me and in due time, when I turned 12, they stopped caring because nothing seemed to work.

I was an embarrassment to their perfect lives. Fuck them.

I never loved my parents as a child would. I don't know if that was because of the neglect or my own mental issues. I don't care much.