As I sit in my room, rain beating against the windows, I begin to think. Not about anything in particular, just wandering along the pathways in my head, taking turns every which way, in a seemingly random pattern. My brain leads me to a thought, one which I will always remember. I cannot tell you this thought, I am leaving it for you to figure out through the course of my writing. In order to fully understand the importance of what I am writing about, I suppose I should give you some background.
I am a 19 year old girl and I live in England in the year 1634. I have a disease no one here understands. I do not quite comprehend it myself. The disease makes me hear voices in my head that are hard to explain. I absolutely hate calling it a " disease ", but neither I, nor any of the voices, have thought up a new name for it.
I have not thought of names for the voices themselves, as I never hear the majority of them more than once. There is one, however, that I hear on a daily basis. I've started to call her Evangeline. She always wants to talk at the most inconvenient of times. Just the other day I was discussing maths with my mother when she asked me how the stew I ate for supper was. Sometimes she is just so rude! Here I was, having a perfectly good conversation, when all of a sudden she pops in and asks a question of a completely unrelated subject. I cannot believe her sometimes.
Other people don't seem to believe her, either. Or me. Everything I say gets disregarded, as they all think I'm insane. You don't think I'm insane, do you? I suppose for the little time we have known each other it would be hard to make a prediction on the state of my mind. Though I am sure you have already made me out for what you want me to be.
The people I meet always seem to do that, judge me before they truly know me. I can not expect anything different of you.
Though I hope you aren't like the others.
