They don't know that I'm watching them.

  • They don't know that I'm watching them. I see everything they do. And I can hear everything they say. I've been spying on them since

  • I was in fourth grade. I wonder if they've ever caught me spying on me? Probably not because I'm a really inconspicuous hider. I've always been jealous of them since they

  • are invisible. This is a skill I have not yet mastered; like putting your elbow in your ear.

  • Who could have guessed that later, I would master both at once. Fear of death and a dislocated shoulder were enough to remind me of the spell of invisibility from Harry Potter,

  • but what was my therapist always telling me? Something about how I have problems telling reality from fantasy? Honestly, I don't remember. I don't really listen to him.

  • He is far less interesting than the voices in my head. He talks about wellness and feelings-booooring. But the fat bus driver in my head talks about accidents he's seen, now that

  • dude was batshit crazy. No, this girl was a woman of danger, excitement, intrigue. I would go down to the K of C Wednesday Bingo Night and slam my pink bingo applicators down

  • next to her. She'd shoot me that crazed Bingo-lady look, like I'd wrecked her rhythm. "B-4" droned the caller. "And after!" howled the players, scanning their B-columns. She glared

  • down at her B-column and the glare ran away from her face, chased away by giddy delirium. "Bingo," she screamed, knocking her chair to the floor as she leapt to her feet.

  • The prize was exactly the amount of money she needed to finish up her plastic surgery so that she could start fresh in a new town where no one would recognize her.



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