Her name isn't really Casper. They call her that because of her big blue eyes, and the fact she is so quiet. Like a ghost, she appears at our bedsides some mornings to take chart, her warm fingers sliding an inch or two down the hem of my bandages to reach my pulse. Her chin doubles adorably as she looks down at me in bed. Like a ghost, she appears suddenly behind me in the hallway, smiling as I turn in surprise: How are you?
She has an enormous tank in her office with a fat, slow turtle that paddles, paddles and paddles, barely making any headway. I watch that poor fucker all the time, I could watch him for hours and days, I find him so incredibly patient at a task that ultimately means nothing, because it's not like he's getting out of that fucking tank any time soon, right?
And Casper just watches me watch him.
YOU ARE READING
little miss "crazy"
Randomthis is a novel!! Charlotte Davis is in pieces. At seventeen, she's already lost more than most people do in a lifetime. But she's learnt how to forget. The broken glass washes away the sorrow until there is nothing but calm. You don't have to thin...
