Seeing the lines of comments scrolling by, I stayed calm, expression unreadable.Since I was little, I'd known the truth: everything in this world was a lie.All of us were just characters in a story, made for someone else's amusement like toys. Because of that, I'd grown up lonely and strange and ended up with selective mutism.I didn't think much of it myself.It was only my mother who suffered, always trying to make me happy."Let go of me! That old man only broke his leg. He can still move his hands. Why can't he be our goalie? And anyway, he wanted to exercise himself—"The little boy struggled against the hold but couldn't move. Hearing him, Edith Sinclair, the head of the orphanage, felt the veins in her forehead throb with anger as she shouted, "Quiet!"Then, letting out a tired sigh, she rubbed her forehead and said helplessly, "Then, why yesterday did you hand Ms. Linton's bedpan to Leo and make him drink from it?"The boy just went "oh" casually, sticking out his ton
Read more