Crimson Clover

I can't be here another minute.
People were smiling at me like they had clothes hangers stuck in their mouths. They were all congradulating me on getting a hot new life. Like the massacre I saw from a month ago was nothing
I can't be here another minute.
The flood of smiling faces was making me nauseous. The constant quick remarks about how loser my foster family was made me mad. Like they didn't mean anything. Like their death was a gladly welcomed event, not a terrible tragedy.
I can't be here another minute.
The jokes regarding my old life weren't funny. Or brilliant, or smart or even bad. They were disgusting. As if there was something funny about having your whole life explode in your face at six a.m.
I can't be here another minute.
I have to get out of here.