August 23rd

Hurt her. I want to hurt her. She's very pretty. I think her yellow hair would make such a pretty paint brush. The bugs are whispering to me. They still hurt me, but they haven't come out yet.

After the nurse found my poop pictures, they made sure I could not do that again. They're watching... always watching. I don't know how... but they are. I feel their eyes.

The bugs tell me that there are people in the walls and that they can see with special magic. I don't want to believe the bugs. Magic is bad! God doesn't like magic. He sends magic people to heck with all the other bad people. I don't want to go to heck! And I don't want to see anyone else go there, either.

But I can feel their eyes on me... I think the bugs are right.

The bugs want me to poke out the nurse's pretty blue eyes, though. They want to see if blue comes out, because it would make a pretty picture. I don't like it when the bugs talk. They're scary.

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This is a work of fiction.
The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

August 20th

They took my drawing things away today. They said they wanted to see if the bugs would come out. I don't want them to come out. I think it will hurt if they do.

I can already feel them crawling and crawling, digging under my skin. It hurts! Mommy, why did you leave me here with these people? I don't like these people. They used to be so nice. Now they want to hurt me! I just want to go home. Why won't you come and bring me home, Mommy? I promise I'll be a good girl from now on!

...

...

The bugs are hurting me again. It feels like they're digging behind my eyes. My brain feels like it's breaking. I don't like this.

...

...

I made drawings with my poop. I don't think the nurses noticed yet. It's very dark against the white walls. The bugs came out when I did, but this time it was very bad. I think it's me trying to hurt my nurse. I don't want to hurt her! She's very pretty.

I guess the bugs don't live in the pen, after all.

- - -

This is a work of fiction.
The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

August 13th

My name... what's my name? I can't remember my name. That's important, isn't it? I should remember my name, of all things. I can't... I can't... every time I try, it's like tendrils are worming their way into my brain... stroking... stroking...

Why did Mommy leave me? She told me she loved me, when she left. That she was very proud of me... I think it's because I'm crazy. The people in white like my drawings. They get excited every time. They provide me with lots of things to draw with. That's good, because if they didn't... the bugs start crawling. They crawl all over, inside and out. I can feel them! They only stop if I draw. I think they get out through the pen.

They must. The things they make me draw are so awful.

I don't want to feel the bugs anymore. Their nails hurt.

Only... the nurse says that bugs don't have nails. But I can feel them. They're so sharp...

- - -

This is a work of fiction.
The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.