The Unseen

Goodbye, Dr.Carshaw. Hello, peace and quiet. I thought to myself as I drove back home from my psychiatrist, Dr.Carshaw's office. That was my last appointment with him. Of course I B.S.ed the entire appointment. My mom sent me to him when I was like eight and I still hadn't outgrown my "imaginary friends". Now here I was at seventeen and they were still there. I had just come to realize that they weren't imaginary.

Ever since I was very little, I've seen more people than are actually where I'm looking. I'm seriously trying not to be cliché here when I say this: I see dead people. I see them, I can hear them when I want to, I can touch them, and I can talk to them. The catch: nobody else knows who I'm talking to when I do. Over the years, I've gotten into some strange situations because of that.

The dead people are unseen, unheard, and unknown to everyone else. Everyone else except me.

How lucky was I? To be outcasted and labelled a freak for something I couldn't control. Of course, the people at school didn't know why I was different. They just knew that I was different and as soon as people found that much out, I was a freak for life. Nobody actually knows what's wrong with me; I've never told anyone. And I don't plan to.

So I'll just keep on pretending to be normal and hope to actually one day have a friend. Hoping is all I can do.