Book Margin
The book: Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
They’ve taken everything. The books, all of my personal items, my phone. It’s all entered into evidence now. All I have kept is this book, and that’s only because an officer felt bad for me and let me sneak it out under my shirt.
All of them have been very careful with me. They look at me as if I’m about to shatter any minute now. What they don’t know is that I am no longer here.
I died when Father did.
They left me behind, on the floor, in that wet puddle of blood under his body.
This girl, sitting here, writing this in a hospital room?
That’s not me.
I am gone.
The girl writing these lines is another girl.
Why is she writing ?
Well, it’s the only thing she remembers how to do. Except breathing.
Sometimes she forgets even that (they had to put an oxygen mask on me yesterday, because my heart nearly gave out.)
But she remembers that she loved Anne of Green Gables and her red hair.
And writing, she remembers writing. But now, she isn’t writing as herself.
She is another person now.
I don’t know this girl. I know who she used to be, but I don’t know her now.
Who will she be? No one knows, least of all me.
Probably no one worth anything.
Then again, maybe she will be a monster.
Just like Father.