Day 4

I finally started talking to the other "patients" today. At lunch, a stocky, cross-eyed man--Damion, I found out later--asked me what I was in for. What I was in for, like, it was a prison or something that we're in. I guess it might as well be.
I told Damion about what I saw. What I see. How I won't pretend like everyone else that I don't see them. That I don't have this fear ripping up my insides every time I'm alone.
"Oh, I see them too," Damion said. "Little short munchkin-looking things, right?" He took a satisfied bite out of his fry and I smiled, pretending I knew exactly what he was talking about.
"You know I met their leader once?" He smiled and sipped his water. "It's Michael. You know, Michael Jackson. The black one, too. Not this pasty pretender that took over once old Mike decided to sacrifice his music career for the greater good of all mankind."
I just smiled and nodded. Damion is crazy.