My name is Christina Alice Morelli.  I am currently writing this from Forestline Mental Institute. Yes, you read that right. I am indeed in a mental institute. I’m here because I inadvertently killed my father. Inadvertently being the key word. But I’ll get into that later. I am currently twelve years old. I suppose you’re wondering what I look like. Well don’t expect blonde hair and baby blue eyes. That’s not me. I have silvery hair and crimson red eyes. My psychologist said it would be helpful for me if I wrote my experiences down, to get them out in the open. You see, after what happened with my father I stopped talking. I never had a mother, she left soon after I was born…due to something I’ll get into later. After my father’s death I left the house we were in and wandered the streets of our home town, Lazaia. An old man found me about four months later and after some questioning, failed questioning I might add, he took me to Forestline. And my psychologist diagnosed me with PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. And I’ve been there since. I haven’t spoken to my psychologist the entire time. So she’s hoping that my writings will make me want to talk. But with my…. ‘issues’, if I told them they would kill me, or worse. My father was the only one that could protect me… but he’s gone now. And I can protect myself. I don’t need him. I can turn people’s blood cold with my stare, or that’s what she said. I’m not sure whether I buy that. But now to start remembering what happened….
My mother named me. She wanted me to have a pure name, to combat all of the evil in me. I was a demon to her. I almost killed her during labor. Then the moment she saw my eyes she denied me. “I could never have a child like that”, she said. My father, on the other hand, opened his heart to me instantly. He protected me from all the stares I got. And I got a lot of stares. Why shouldn’t they stare? I looked like a demon. I’m not though. I would never hurt anyone purposely. There are other odd things about me but I’ll get into that at another time. It’s a long story. But I have made a few friends here, that don’t stare at me strangely. But then again who would at a place such as this?   But that’s not important. I’m supposed to talk about my family so I shall…