Day 2 cont. 12:32 PM
After a painful lunch, all of us "campers" were forced into this small room. It has pale blue walls. Dark blue carpet. And one, two three...seven metal chairs, like the ones I used to sit in at school. There's a single white light hanging above us. Me-plus-five-other-freaks-and-a-counselor us. I wonder out loud why all of the campers are girls, and the counselor places her index finger to her lips and shushes me. I don't shush, though, and ask what we're doing here. She tells me that right now is the time we're all supposed to introduce ourselves to one another. We start by saying our names. Then how long we've been in this hellhole. Then how old we are.
The lady picks a tall girl with red hair to start. I figure she's been here the longest. "My name is Amber," She says. "I've been in here for a year and a half. I'm seventeen." Most of them respond with little, "Hi, Amber"s or "Hey." I feel like I'm in a self-support group. Maybe I am.
The next girl goes. She's short. She has lots of freckles. And she's the skinniest here, which is hard to be. She says her name is Danica. She says that she's thirteen. And she's been here for six months. She had spunk. I liked her.
Then a brunette Heather goes, then a black haired, dark-skinned girl named Courtney. You can tell they're friends, because they only look at each other when they speak. They both claim to be fifteen.
The last girl before me is the most shocking. She's the littlest. She looks too young to be here.
"My name is Emily," She says. A soft, high tone. "I'm eight." Eight. EIGHT. The girl's a baby. How is she here? The poor, poor kid. She's pale. She has blonde, blonde hair, and blue eyes that are also pale. Everything about her is pale; lifeless. It's scary.
I stand up. "Catie," I say, twirling my light brown hair. "I've been in this hospital..."-I sneer at the counselor, who gives me a dirty look-"For two days. Oh, and I'm fourteen. You can all stop staring at me now, I'm done."
And that's what I am. Done.
~Catherine Elizabeth Duncan