Chapter 2

I think I was three(Maybe earlier, who knows?) when I first noticed them. Irregularities, that is. Three, and rather disoriented because of it. I was a rather intelligent child, you see. Picked up words and colors, puzzles, how to write and draw—you name it, I could do it.

Stuff that a kid can do, obviously.

I was intelligent, but the world just didn't make sense a lot of the time. Ya know, that distant aunt that died? Sorry, you must have been confused, love. She's been fine, and even lives quite comfortably down in those fancy retirement homes down in Florida.

That color? Sometimes I was told it was blue, sometimes it was red. What could I do about it? Acceptance. A kid has to listen to what a parent tells 'em.

Though what they told me was always contrary, I made do. Even now, I still can't get the stories from then in order. Sometimes my parents will say I was walking and talking by 9 months. Sometimes a year, sometimes 3 years. Sometimes they say I was smart.

Sometimes they say otherwise.

Is it me? Or them.

These questions I asked myself so often, it seems.

There was a major Irregularity at three. Which may be why I feel I must've been three when I noticed it. Them. My dog died. Or, didn't die. This seemed to be repeating until finally I couldn't take it and said I was scared of him and had them send him to another home when he was 'alive.'

Oh, don't try to tell me they replaced it. My puppy only listed to me, had certain marks in certain places, ya know. I knew it was my doggo.

The Irregularity stopped, and I moved on, not getting any more pets.