What was I talking to? Or who at that matter.
I remember it so clear. When I was little I didn't have that many friends. So my papa built me a treehouse. My parents thought that if they built it for me, I wouldn't be so depressed.
Everyday they would send me outside so I could get some fresh air in hopes that I would play in my treehouse. Well they weren't wrong. I went in it a lot, but not to play. I would go in there to talk to a "friend". The "friend" knew my name, but she would never tell me hers.
She would alway tell me to bring a pencil and paper. She would take my mind and showed me her past and I would have to draw what I saw. It was scary sometimes, but she would take the memories away. So all there was, was the drawings I drew hanging on the walls of my treehouse.
One day while I was at school, my mum went into my treehouse to see what I have been up to in there. And when she saw my drawing she was terrified. So terrified that she called the doctor to look at them.
When the doctor came to see them, he was displeased. So he took me to the hospital to study my brain. He said there was nothing wrong. He told me I was going a little mad but nothing to bad that medicine couldn't cure.
I spent 3 days in the hospital and then they sent me home.
( ok first story I ever wrote on here. Lol there is more to this story so don't think its over! Thanks lovely!!)
