When she went to sleep, things would sprout from her head.
Her parents called it her imagination.
The doctor called it spontaneous benign tumours and was always so perplexed.
He'd ask her all these questions about her diet, her environment and her parent's jobs.
She didn't really know what they did but she knew their work number Just In Case.
There were a lot of things she was told to do Just In Case.
Like make a Will (whatever that was, she had a vague idea that it was about her leaving home).
She'd also gotten a special dress for her "Big Day".
Her parents were always sad when they talked about her Big Day.
When she asked they always said it was Nothing but she knew it was about her imagination.
Her ever growing imagination that made it hard for her to hold her head up sometimes.
It made her eyes go fuzzy and everything taste like licking a penny too.
When she looked in a mirror she could barely see her little face under all the imaginatings she had.
She'd named the largest and talked to it at night when her body ached too much to sleep.
Sometimes it even talked back and its voice came from right at the top of her head.
Last night she'd asked it what she'd always wanted to know.
She asked if it had a face of its own and if not, how did it talk?
Her favourite imaginating replied that its face was underneath hers, just beneath her skin.
It had always lived with her, even before she was born when they were growing together.
Somewhere when they were growing they bumped into each other and became her instead of them.
It had been inside her all her life and now it wanted Out.
She wanted it out too, it wasn't fair to keep it stuck to her - it was like being grounded permanently!
Late at night, after grabbing one of daddy's favourite kitchen knives she began freeing it.
They found her in the morning, all tumours gone, a gaping hole where her brain had been.
Strangely later on, after the panic and grief had gone down somewhat they noticed something.
A thin trail of blood leading from where her body had been out the open door.
It led back to her room and to her bed where a lump shivered under the quilt, laughing quietly.
The fabric around it was soaked with blood.
Her parents called it her imagination.
The doctor called it spontaneous benign tumours and was always so perplexed.
He'd ask her all these questions about her diet, her environment and her parent's jobs.
She didn't really know what they did but she knew their work number Just In Case.
There were a lot of things she was told to do Just In Case.
Like make a Will (whatever that was, she had a vague idea that it was about her leaving home).
She'd also gotten a special dress for her "Big Day".
Her parents were always sad when they talked about her Big Day.
When she asked they always said it was Nothing but she knew it was about her imagination.
Her ever growing imagination that made it hard for her to hold her head up sometimes.
It made her eyes go fuzzy and everything taste like licking a penny too.
When she looked in a mirror she could barely see her little face under all the imaginatings she had.
She'd named the largest and talked to it at night when her body ached too much to sleep.
Sometimes it even talked back and its voice came from right at the top of her head.
Last night she'd asked it what she'd always wanted to know.
She asked if it had a face of its own and if not, how did it talk?
Her favourite imaginating replied that its face was underneath hers, just beneath her skin.
It had always lived with her, even before she was born when they were growing together.
Somewhere when they were growing they bumped into each other and became her instead of them.
It had been inside her all her life and now it wanted Out.
She wanted it out too, it wasn't fair to keep it stuck to her - it was like being grounded permanently!
Late at night, after grabbing one of daddy's favourite kitchen knives she began freeing it.
They found her in the morning, all tumours gone, a gaping hole where her brain had been.
Strangely later on, after the panic and grief had gone down somewhat they noticed something.
A thin trail of blood leading from where her body had been out the open door.
It led back to her room and to her bed where a lump shivered under the quilt, laughing quietly.
The fabric around it was soaked with blood.
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