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here is an excerpt from one of my stories that will go along with a bunch of other subpar bedtime stories for manic depressives. enjoy.

I like the crazy girl

I like the crazy girl.

She just moved in next door.

She has black hair and wears dresses that she is too old to be wearing. Dresses my little sister wears to birthday parties with mary janes and white tights.

The crazy girl’s name is Melinda.

I watch her sometimes from my kitchen window when she is in her backyard.

She sings to herself and bounces a ball against the fence and calls to a dog that is never there.

I try to catch her eye when I take out the trash or get the mail and she looks at me coyly and kind of smiles then starts murmuring to herself that makes me realise she hasn’t seen me at all.

I let Ralphy out for a pee and Melinda ran to the fence and leaned over to watch him.

So I went out and stood on the back porch and watched.

Melinda held out her hand and Ralphy licked it and Melinda went hysterical with pleasure. I walked over and patted Ralphy on the head and said hello to Melinda.

She looked at me and said nothing.

Hello Melinda I am Paul. I like your jumper.

Melinda covered her mouth and turned to run but some of her hair got caught on the fence and ripped out of her head. Melinda barely noticed.

The next day there was an envelope taped to the fence where our little meeting was and Melinda’s hair was gone.

There was a poorly drawn picture of a dog on it.

Inside were several drawings of a man on a porch, taking out the garbage, in a car, smoking and also one of the man with a girl on a swing holding hands and cute little hearts floating all around them. The girl was suppose to be Melinda and the man was suppose to be me.

I felt amazing, though, a little bit perverted.

Melinda is special, perhaps we may be close in age but who knows mentally how old she truly is.

I sent Jody over when she got back from school with some candy to make friends with Melinda. An hour later she came back with Melinda and a note from Melinda’s mother.

Dear Sir, my daughter is autistic, please send her home the moment she is out of line. I appreciate the candy. Your Jody is a very sweet girl. -Margaret

Jody gave me a look and rolled her eyes then ran off to her room and slammed the door.

Melinda and I stood in the living room together.

How old are you Melinda?


Melinda, I am 27 years old. I live here with my little sister and my grandmother.


I raised two fingers to represent twenty and then seven.

Melinda nodded and pointed to herself and whispered twenty-four.

She stepped toward me, took my hand and whispered, I am not stupid.

I told her I knew that already and said that I loved how she sang and she blushed.

She sat at the piano and I joined her, side by side, we did not look at one another nor did we say anything for a long time.

I know that you are lonely. She said to me and I nodded.

I know that you want to leave this house and go far, far away.

I know that you want to take me with you.

Melinda turned to me and put her fingers on my mouth and I was finally able to stare deep into her big green eyes that see things I could never hope to see.

This girl lives in a different world, one that I may never enter.

Melinda poked the tips of her fingers into my mouth and dragged them around on my tongue and I let her. Then she played the piano and sang along in some beautiful mumbo-jumbo I had never heard and would probably never hear again.

Then out of nowhere, she stopped.

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