"Philip", "I have a pet. His name is Phillip. His eyes are blue and his skin is white. He lives in my jewelry box at home. I made him. My parents don't believe me when I tell them he exists, but I know he does. I feed him everyday. He would come to school with me, but it's much to dangerous for him. He spends the day in my room, exploring. He loves rolling my super bouncy ball around the floor for exercise every day. I always fear he'll get seen by my parents while I'm at school. I would be destroyed if anything happened to him. I did make him after all. I cut his hair almost every day, but it never grows back. Just like me. The closest he's come to danger was when my cat almost chewed him up. His leg got injured and I had to make a cast for him out of  bandages. Kids at school pick on me now for talking about him. He's my only friend.

But we argue a lot.

If I get picked on in school, I'll take it out on Phillip. He tries to console me, but I don't listen to him. I almost threw Philip once. I really need to control my anger. He's been bossing me around lately and I can't say I appreciate that. He makes fun of me for acting 'abnormal'. I think that's what he calls it. He tells me that other people don't talk to things that aren't there like I do. I hate to say it, but I believe him. I have to believe my only friend... right?

Philip is always very nice to me, but whenever I'm upset, he knows, and tries to convince me.

'You know you want to do it. If you do, we'll be together in infinite happiness, and you won't have to hide me from your family.'

'No, I won't. My mom will miss me greatly. I could never do something like that to her...'

This is the two-line dialog we have every day. The only argument we can't resolve.

My mom sends me to this man twice a week. I'm supposed to tell him all that I've done so far that day. Who I've talked to that's 'really in my subconscious'. My mom says that my mood is dependent on who I talk to. I tell her that the other people don't really talk to me, they just... tell me things. Those people usually get me in trouble. Phillip is the only one that I feel understands me. I tell the man this, and all he always says in return is: 'How does that make you feel?' or 'How does that alter your [place filler word here]?'. I'm fond of my mother, but I hate that man. I don't like listening to repetition.

I hate school even more. No one likes me there, not even the teachers. I'm in a special program with other 'gifted people like me'. That's what the principle says. The 'Grade 11 Special Ed Program' is what the real name is. Stupid principle. At school, I see the real people along with the people that tell me things. They are the only ones that talk to me at school, but I don't even like them that much. At lunch, they fill up all the empty chairs around me. I must say, I do prefer them over the real people. They look just like other kids at the school, but I can tell them apart easily: the ones that talk to me when they pass me in the halls are the fake ones.

There is one pretty girl that I like. She always comes down from the ceiling in the halls. Whenever I see her, I stop in the halls and stare straight up and admire her beauty. Her beautiful blond hair shines like those fiber lights I have back home. Her eyes are a beautiful dark red, and keep me locked to them. All the fake people stop and look up at her too. I would stare at her all day if it wasn't for the normal people at my school. They shake or push me whenever I see that girl. Sometimes they call me 'goat'. I hate that nickname. Once I punched a kid who called me that. It just gets on my nerves. Can they not see that I'm not a goat? Are they the ones with mental issues? Sometimes, I just wish I could be left alone. Out in my own universe. Sometimes, I just think of Phillip. He keeps me going, and I think the man my mom likes for me to talk to is trying to get rid of him. That won't happen.

If I get too angry at life, I'll listen to music. I'm really fond of Passion Pit and Sigur Ros. They make me feel... warm. But listening to them sometimes gets me thinking: Why can't I sing like them? Why don't I look as good as they look? All these questions in turn make me very sad. The world always seems like it's against me, or at least doesn't work for me. I want to know how it feels to be normal for just a single day. If there's a god, he sure isn't fond of me. I know what I'll do.

I'll take Phillip's offer of infinite happiness."

