Morphine Ghost
Those girls were not mine.
October 27, 2003
Every name eventually becomes an address.
They were clustered there in a basement corner. Dirty, old mattresses and scattered blankets. I could hear their screams and cries in my room. The lie is that I tortured them. The truth is that I was the one being tortured. They were put there to taunt me. To cause me harm. To make me look like I am getting worse, not better. Yet another reason to lock me away.
Of course, Mother blamed me. That is no surprise. But how could have I smuggled those poor girls into the house? I can't even walk down the street without feeling everyone's stares. I am under constant observation. I can feel their hate seeping through the walls.
No one would ever believe that an old woman would - or even could - kidnap girls and lock them in an old cellar to live with rats and leaking pipes.