I watched as the blood drip, drip, dripped from the ceiling onto the bare mattress. It landed with a plop just inches from the tip of my toes. I hugged my knees closer to my chest as my stomach roiled in disgust.
I swallowed back the bile from the cafeteria gruel I had choked down during dinner hour as I peeked up at the source of the dripping blood. Above my head the girl with the hideously grotesque smile, that looked as if someone had grabbed the corners of her mouth and ripped the skin wide open, rested against the ceiling. She stared back at me with her dull lifeless eyes.
Apart from the grotesque smile and the gaping wound in the girl’s forehead she might have been considered pretty; like a strong Viking maiden woman. If she weren’t a figment of my imagination or whatever my psychologist insisted she was. Nobody every believed me and nobody else had the ability to see her. No, sadly my grim friend was what had landed me in Harpbrooke Asylum in the first place.