Everything is quite in my room. I can see the leaves on the trees flittering as the wind catches them and spins them to first show me the dull green side and then the bright, dark green, blood filled viens. I know trees don't have blood, at least they don't have red blood like mine. Did you know trees don't show their real colors until Fall? I didn't know that either, until I came here. The green is from the chlorophyll in the leaves. Chlorophyll fills the veins and reacts to the sunlight and trees continue to flash their silky green underside and shiny green surfaces as if they are something special. I’d like to flash the trees something. Stupid trees. Stupid me. It’s only when they are dead that they are really pretty anyway. I like the bright orange and golden-yellows of of Fall. It’s only then that you can see the true nature of the trees.
I wish I could be like the leaves on the trees. Maybe if I take out everything making me all pink and pretty I will be able to see my own true colors. Maybe if I take away everything that makes you so pink and pretty it will make you see your true colors too.
I tried digging into the bark of the tree to see what was on the inside, to see the blood spreading through the branches and flooding into the leaves. I wanted to see if trees bleed green too. Humans bleed red. We don't bleed pink, like the outside of our skin reveals. I guess humans are as deceptive as trees.
I hate being on the inside. I hate hiding my secrets away and not letting the world see who I am. Why can't we show the world what we really are? We can't even reveal what we are like when we are dead. They cover our skin with makeup and our body with clothes and then make up lies about us to speak at each other at funerals. No one believes the lies we tell, even though we smile behind our red mouths and pink skin and say how much we loved him and how he was the perfect father. I wish we were liked the trees and our true colors would show when we died. Then we would see what we were really like.
I can't hear anything from the inside. I mean, I hear things. I’m not deaf. But, I can't hear anything real. I can't hear the trees or the wind or the squirrel running through the leaves. Oh, look. There's a squirrel. I wonder what he's up to now. I don't think a squirrel thinks about the nature of trees when he's searching for nuts to squirrel away for winter. Hey, I just got that. All a squirrel ever thinks about is nuts. How many he has, what they are good for, how to make more baby squirrels. Man, now I'm thinking dirty. I need to clean up my act.
I hear someone in the hall. I always hear someone in the hall, unless I'm the person in the hall and then all I hear is me. I’m good at screaming. Not as good as some people here, but I'm pretty good.
They are coming to tell me it's time to go. I’m always going somewhere. I think it's time for dinner now. At least I won't have to talk to anyone during dinner. I might have to listen to someone scream, but maybe they'll give me a real fork this time and I can see if she bleeds green too.
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