Two Different Bunzoes • Chapter 4

Melanie’s Point of View:

I remember when Jemina died in the hour of joy… Theresa was so angry that Jemina died that she murdered the toy that she found out killed Jemina just a week before we escaped the factory. That toy was Andrew Gilligan, a mini Huggy Wuggy.

Theresa has made a memorial for Jemina using old photos of Jemina and used to spend lots of time with Jimmy Jackson making a journal of their memories with Jemina.

Now, those journals are just memories.

Present Day.

        Theresa is pacing the floor. Uncle Carter had come to visit and was baking her a cake to calm her down, but she was infuriated.

        Theresa kept claiming “I can see Gilligan's corpse… His blood’s everything… Everything and EVERYWHERE… It's the furniture… I love that he's dead… His body is the walls…”

        Melody, Ariel & Uncle Carter admitted her to a psych ward and explained everything, so the staff of the asylum reported the events to the police.

        The police weren't too serious about it, so “they sent in a welfare check at the place,” they said. Therapy was good for Theresa. It helped her work through a lot of issues.

        While she was in therapy, we visited while I was told to look for a G.E.D. and they had to explain our situation and help sign me up.

        As a result, the receptionist, a Caucasian Human named Didi, asked “Do you really think all of them died? That factory is bigger than you think.”

        This led me to have many questions. What if they're not all dead? It's a whole city underground in the caves in the factory. Did I… Skip town? Like… Did I just run from one city to another?

        I had to study for my G.E.D. This would take awhile and they ended up having to help me learn a lot because I had missed out on normal teenage education.

        I would get up early, and sleep quickly. I'd eat normal food on a regular basis, I'd go and buy food, I'd do normal stuff. This was the best thing that ever happened to me! This is amazing! I'm sure the prototype is telling people I'm dead. He wants EVERYONE to believe that being in that God-forsaken factory is the best thing like Ham Cheese. It's torture and he's NUTS.

        I'm gonna see if Gentle John is actually dead like his propaganda piece says, probably not. He escaped and I kept my lips zipped about it. I shut up like everyone else should.

        Hopefully that madman doesn't try to find my crack. I deserve this. I deserve to be able to buy food. I deserve this; I deserve to be able to have happiness. I deserve to get my GED. I deserve to have a job. I deserve peace. DUH.

        I deserve real normalcy. I deserve to worship my Christ in peace, I deserve to NOT be a martyr. I deserve to NOT be at risk of being a martyr. I deserve normal stuff. I deserve normal.

To Be Continued…