I got of of the psychiatric facility I had been locked into for a few months, and started thinking. Then I wrote. This is what became of it.


11. Epilouge

This is me. This is who I am. This is what is inside of me. Now I told you. Black on white. Let’s see how long it takes for you to forget.


So that’s the story. Maybe it’s an unorthodox way of telling a story, but fuck it. That’s the story of me. Of a little girl, whose innocence turned into a death wish. The one who’s fighting a war with herself. The one you all call a survivor; but that I would barely call a soldier. Know what? Call me what you like. I know what I am. And know you know too. Interpret it as you like.

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