Psycho\\ Discontinued

Prolouge

I don't really have a name. I never got one. Simple as that. I don't even know if I have parents or not.
Your supposed to have parents to have a name right? Otherwise, what kind of parent doesn't give their child, their own baby, a name?
It's hard not having a name. That's a question people ask you all the time. "What's your name, what's your name?". Whenever they do, I just stare at them and walk away. I hear that some kids never got a name. People were just too rude not to give them one. Parents were rude enough, or they weren't there to give their kid a name.
Fortunately, people had the kindness to give me a name. The Psycho . That's my name.
Names reflect on how people, or your parents, see you as. People see me as a psycho. A mindless girl.
I'm not mindless. I have a mind, a brain. See, if you tap on my head, there are no echoes. Something is in there. I don't have a hollow head. I have a head with a mind, a brain.
I also believe that names don't scare people. Whenever even hear, speak, or even think about my name , they either tremble or spit. That think my name is filthy. I'M filthy. I'm not dirty. I take a bath in the city fountain every morning before sunrise. I rinse myself real good, getting all of the dirt from last night washed off. I splash around even. I get out and shake the cold water off of me. I can't afford a towel just yet.I pull on my clothes that sit near the fountain. I let them sit near me when I bathe is so because they can get washed and wet too. I can't afford a washing machine and a dryer either. Not yet anyway.
The only pair of clothes I have is my uniform for my high school Rosella. A black long sleeve shirt, a thigh- high tan ruffle skirt, a tan jacket with long sleeves,a lace lining and blue buttons with rose on the left breast pocket. Knee-lengthed black socks and a pair of brown loafers. And I wear my hair down. It's short and night-black colored.
I used to go to high school. But I stopped going after my "incident" a few years back. A bloody incident.
I usually search for my meals around the city. Anything I can find in the McDonald's dumpster is good enough for me. I sometimes hit it lucky by finding a whole apple pie, a half-filled blueberry milkshake or even a bag of cookies. But I usually get a few half eaten burgers and some slimy fries. That's what I eat 3 times a day. Maybe 5.
What I do for fun is my little secret.
I carry a small brown leathered bag that holds some pictures and my blood-covered knife. Nothing much. Nothing important. Like me !😜
I usually sleep high on a tree. I did for a few months, but the police made me stop. Apparently climbing and sleeping trees in Central Park is "illegal". How? Nobody cares about them. They just walk past them, not giving a care in the world.
I bet being a tree is nice. You make your own food, people depend on you, people don't care about you. You pretty just the way you are. You live for a bit then you die. Your trunk and leaves decays and become part of the world thanks to decomposition and earthworms. You dead. You don't care anymore. No one does.Cool.