1The Window
A/N- As you can see its only very short.
I have set it in a diary form.
Diary...
I remember the first time I was called crazy, middle of October 1899. My dad had died a few months earlier and I was sitting in my room when suddenly my father walked in, like he wasn't even dead. He sat with me and we played with my dolls, just like we always. We talked and laughed as he told me story's of foreign lands.
At tea that day mother and my brothers where sitting at the table looking so depressed, I had to make them feel better, so I told them about seeing father. My mother ran off crying and my brothers looked at me in disgust saying how could I do that to them, bring up dad all over again.
No one believed me out of my friends either calling me 'Crazy Catherine' shouting at me at me and pointing. The girls I used to love like sisters, became the scary monsters that played havoc in my nightmares.
After a year I saw my father everyday, I talked to him about my mother and brothers, he told me not to mention him to anyone ever again. I no longer spoke to my father when in the house out of fear of being overhead, so me and him would go to the back of the garden and play there.
My family forgave me, telling me it was because I was only a little girl and of course I wouldn't know the implications of my actions.
As I got older so did my fathers 'ghost', he told me never to call him that but I couldn't help it that's what he was.
Knowing my father was there helped me get on with my life and become braver in my actions knowing that no matter what I would never be alone, however I kept to myself and talking the minimal amount to people whenever it was needed. I knew I would always have my father by my side I would never need anyone else.
I never had many friends as a teenager, people still thought of me as strange.
One day though I did make a friend her name was Jessica, we met on our porch and straight way became good friends, talking endlessly about shopping and men we would love to marry.
After a year of being best friends, I told her about my father.
I don't know why I did it, maybe it was because I wanted someone to talk about it with, or maybe it was because I hoped she would tell me that it's not 'crazy'.
Of course Jessica did neither of these things, instead opted to scream and run, and of course tell everyone she meet that I was indeed, still seeing my dead father.
My mother then sent me here. I would love to tell you exactly where I am, but I can't, all I tell you is that outside of the 'Reading Room' there is a park. The window is covered in bars but I can still see the soft greens of the plants and the stunning reds of the roses planted only a few meters away.
I dream of one day sitting in that park eating a picnic and enjoying the sunshine, free.
I have been here for 3 years now. Everyday is the same, I wake up, eat, I look out of the window, eat another two meals and then go back to bed. My father has left me, telling me that he had to move on. That night I screamed and cried in my cold dark room. Nobody came.
I doubt I will ever leave, stuck in this endless torture, forgotten by even my own family.
The doctor gave me some medication a few weeks ago just before my father left me, telling me he was certain it should help but I don't know if it has. All I feel is cold.
The world around me is changing and I can do nothing but sit and watch it pass out of the small window.
A/N- This is my first attempt at writing a more sad story.
So do you think Catherine is hallucinating her father or is she really seeing his ghost?
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