The scary man hasn't been back in a while so I feel much better. School already had me frustrated I need not worry more. My mother named the scary man, anxiety. The doctors termed him something along the lines of "skit-so-free-nee-ah." A big word indeed. Matched the scary man quite well.
I pulled out a well-worn notebook with the name "Carrie" scrawled on it in rather space consuming lettering. I opened to a new page and titled it, Skit.
Skit-so-free-nee-ah
Skit is the man who walks with me sometimes. He likes to tell me stories about the "New World."
He speaks of the world yet to come, a world where humans would not exist where nature takes its course as intended. A world where we truly see it's full potential. Skit was scary, but he was the only friend I had. Skit was also lonely. I see a lot of his kind. The scarymen, I liked to call them. But skit was an angel compared to them all. Even under all that charred skin and folds, occupied a slightly warm stone heart. Too warm, he would say.
I believe he left because he got upset at me.
I closed the journal and gazed up at the ceiling wistfully.
Skit was a good friend, still is, I hope.
Why does everyone leave me?
YOU ARE READING
{Wonderland}
General FictionOh, such grace, elegance, and charm. Indeed a land of wonder. Delicate, intricate, frail. Describes the weak-minded, hearted, and bodied. Soon enough this wonderland of sorts will fall into the undeniable doom of which good things must come to an en...
