One day when I was a very little girl, I was bored and had to pee. I wanted someone to play with me and take me to the bathroom. There were lots of people at my house, but I didn’t know any of them. And they all looked busy. The door to the basement was open, and in a show of bravery that would not be willingly repeated for years, I went down. I found someone I knew there. Well I found her head. It was on a table covered in blood.
“Will you come and play with me now?” I asked, completely unfazed by the body stuffed in the fridge behind me. The head did not respond. So I went to the girl who was stuffed in the broken fridge. “I want to go outside.”
I waited for her to say that she would take me outside, but she didn’t do anything but moan a little. I had had enough of being ignored, so I went outside all by myself.
There was a whole bunch of strangers going into the backyard, so I followed them. They were all screaming about a girl hanging from a tree. I screamed, too. “Come down and play!” She didn’t come down. But there was more screaming down the path. I found two other people I knew. But they were bloody and playing with saws, so I just kept going. There was a nice big plastic tunnel to crawl through.
I had never seen the tunnel in my yard before, so I crawled through it over and over. Till that got boring. I ventured forth again with the hope of finding someone to play with. As soon as I had peed in the grass, that is.
I found people I knew in the cemetery in the side yard, but there were too many people running from them screaming… so, I couldn’t get their attention either. Dejected, I went back to the basement.
“No one will play with me,” I told the bodiless head. The table cloth lifted, and my friend’s body was there. I curled up in her lap and napped while the house was filled with blood curdling screams. And this, my friends, is why I should probably be in therapy.