I live in the borderlands. The word ghost sounds like memory. The word therapy means exorcism. My visions echo and multiplymultiply. I don't know how to figure out what they mean. I can't tell where they start or if they will end. But I know this. If they shrink my head any more, or float me away on an ocean of pills, I will never return.

Some adults would rather pretend that bad things dont exist than to talk about them.

Mr. Freeman sighs. "No imagination. What are you thirteen? Fourteen? You've already let them beat your creativity out of you!

I smile and play pretend through the Morning Show in the kitchen.

I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.

In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.

I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.