Emma

But there was nothing wrong with me.

You're a murderous monster.

I could state how many times I knew what I did was wrong, and that it wasn't really my fault. It was the voices'. They made me do it. They told me if I didn't, I'd be the girl who was always made fun of for being herself. I would always be second best, and it made me feel like shit.

Of course I realized a million times that I could blame it on whomever I wanted. It was still my DNA on the knife's handle, and it was still their bodies in my fireplace. It was still their blood on my living room floor. It was still my fault.

Maybe I was mad, delusional, insane. I was here for all the same reasons anyone else was - the voices. They were little beings in one's mind that told a person what he or she could or couldn't do. They were like parental figures or something like that. They were the devil, and we were the spawn.

I didn't talk to anyone here. I was quiet, and I only talked when spoken to. Like the other day, the boy from across the hall asked me if I liked raspberries. I said no. He nodded, smiling at me. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in an ugly place like this?"

So I told him. "I killed five girls, and burned their bodies to ashes."

"What made you do a thing like that?"

I looked up at him and said with a straight face, "The voices."

He didn't say another word to me or take another glance at me. He just left me and returned to his room. Bastard. That was okay, though. I didn't want a friend here. I wanted to be isolated and alone because I didn't need a friend. I had them. I had people to talk to, even if they weren't visible to anyone or even me. They were in my head.

Even though they taunted me to do bad things and when I did them, they were still my friends.