Crazies Among us, Entry Fore
I write to tell you the tragic story of the Crazy House Girl. No, this is not me. I am crazy, but not in this way. The Crazy House Girl,or CHG, was...well...
She went to a normal school, like the rest of us. She looked like a normal girl. She talked like a normal girl. It wasn't until I entered her room--through a window--that I began to suspect she was a fewfries short of a value meal.
The window was necessary because the door was utterly blocked by clothes and...things. Things that I refused to investigate.
You perhaps think I mean there were a few books,some socks, things that could be easily swept to the side.
There was achest-high mound of clothes n' things. Right in front of the door.
The room got worse from there.
There were food containers scattered about. A shattered television set with candy boxes in it. A heap of clothes, paper, and old broken toys from which, periodically, came the unmistakable sounds of a squeaky mouse wheel, and squeaky mice. Shoes. That weren't hers. Clothes-- shirts-- covered in what I valiantly tried to believe was chocolate syrup.
Only the bed stood relatively free of the drifitnig dunes o' filth. And I stayed on the bed, huddled against the open window, until-- for some mysterious reason-- I began to have an allergy attack. I asked where the bathroom was, so I could grab some tissue, and was told "Oh, we don't go there.”
The living room?
The kitchen? Paper towels?
"We never leave this room. That's not safe."
By now I was about to choke, or start flooding the room with snot, so I dared to ask if there was anything tissue- like in the nightmare room we currently sat in.
"Oh, just use the curtains!”
I looked at the curtains. Which had fleas. Before I could comment, she said "Oh, I'm gonna grab a snack-- you want some cheese?" and headed for her closet.
And while her back was turned, I dove out the window and fled into the night.