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I can clearly remember my house.  It had a green roof, wooden floors and a lovely wallpaper  with little pink roses adorned all the rooms. There was a cute pink sofa and my cat always slept on it. The curtains were pink too and near one of the windows  there was a little, nice piano. Everything was beautiful and joyful and I was happy to live there. How pretty and cozy was my house!

I don’t know why I’m here now, in this place with bars on the windows. Everything is white and cold. They always wear white clothes and they are always here, even in the night. They are kind to me: they give me food, they wash me, they change the sheets on my bed because sometimes something wrong happens and I wet my bed.

You Mum, you often come to visit me and usually you are kind too. But you always cry. Why do you cry, Mum? I’m fine. This place is white and cold, but I’m fine. Sometimes you stare at me with a strange look and ask me a lot of questions and I can’t understand why you get angry and you shake me shouting that it isn’t true that I lived in a pretty house.

Why Mum? Why don’t you believe me? Why are you so mean to me? You know, you know that when you behave this way that dreadful  nightmare comes again and scares me to death. Always the same……

……I’m in a room, I turn my head and I notice that the door is open and I don’t know why the door is open because I’m sure to be alone. Suddenly that shadow, that man without a face, his hand pressed on my mouth. He forces me to the floor. Oh, my God! His hands all over my body, his disgusting words and such a searing pain that it seems that he’s tearing my flesh apart. I try to escape but he’s much stronger than me. I want to scream, but fear chokes me . I close my eyes……..darkness. Darkness is better than pain, better than grief. When I open them again I see blood. Blood everywhere, on my clothes, on my legs, on the floor……….

Why Mum? Why do you do this to me? You know how frightening is that nightmare. So frightening that every time I feel like dying. I try to cast it from my mind and I hit the wall  with my head till my nose starts bleeding. Then they come, they hold me tight and they tie my hands. I scream and shout because  anguish is so unbearable that I want to smash everything.

Fortunately they call the other  man. Doctor Harris…yes..they say Doctor Harris. Doctor Harris is good. I always put my head on his shoulder and I cry. My tears and my blood  smear his white clothes. He tells me that it’s over and he gives me some bitter candies that make me feel better. Doctor Harris is really good. He believes me. He knows that I lived in a little, pretty, cozy house.

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