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Original title: “My best friend”
Date added: 06/20/13
Date stored: 06/20/13

I grew up in a quiet little village in South Carolina. My parents owned a lone farmhouse situated just outside a forest; it was beautiful.

I remember meeting my first and, only friend Tom there. He was sitting by the lake nearby skimming stones. Becoming friends instantly we were practically inseparable.

We’d sleep in each other’s tree houses trading Pokémon cards throughout the summer holidays. And catch minnows from the lake every day.

The best fun came from staying indoors however. We would go through phases each summer, from building weapons to play in the forest by day, to telling ghost stories in our farmhouses by night.

Our imagination was limitless, and we soon settled on playing doctor for a few weeks. I’d knock on his door complaining of a cough and nausea, then take a seat watching him rummage through his drawers.
“Ah!” He’d give me some raisins in a vial. “Here, take two of these a day after eating to induce vomiting. As for the cough just give it a week and come back to me.”

The next day we spent fishing again until dark, when he’d come to sleep round my house. This time it was my turn to play doctor and I’d set up some quilts to form a doctor’s tent in the attic.
I gave him some mountain dew and told him to get some rest. “This will definitely induce vomiting” I said laughing, as I crawled into my sleeping bag.

I remember waking up very early into the morning to go to the bathroom, climbing down the ladder from the attic careful not to wake Tom.
I felt uneasy the whole time as I walked to the bathroom, as if I were being watched. I avoided turning on the bathroom light to not wake my parents, and that’s it. That’s all I can remember.

When I woke again I was in the back of my parent’s car being driven somewhere. I couldn’t make sense of anything for a minute; in fact all I knew was that it wasn’t dark anymore and that I had one killer migraine. Other than that something wasn’t right at all.
Dad was driving, and completely ignoring me. But mom, mom looked ill. I could tell she was crying, as she hid her pale face in her arms. It couldn’t have been an argument, and I definitely hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I want you to know, we will always love you son” mom was seriously starting to freak me out. I mean those were the first words she’d said. She said we were going on a trip, and that we’d be returning soon. She was so quiet; her voice was robotic and fake, and in the end I gave up and just sat there for the rest of the drive, scared and annoyed. Why wouldn’t she tell me anything? I was so confused.

Police report a week later: A young boy was found dead in the attic of a farmhouse in South Carolina. A thin puddle of blood sat from  a tent made of bed quilts. Inside was a young boy lying with two long, thin metal rods protruding from his eye sockets.
Cause of death: Not determined on scene.

'I can’t mention where I am now, nor can I begin to understand what happened that night. And what drove me to try and lobotomise my best and only friend.Italic text

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