The girl

“I’m sick of being told I am one of a kind.” She said.
“There are plenty of others, just like me!” She’d scream.
She’d pause. She’d smile.

“There are many of my kind, you’ll find.
The pleasure, of which, to meet, denied.
A plead of sanity, they cried.
They’ve all been institutionalised!”

In hysterics, smug, she’d laugh uncontrollably, alone.
A crowd of weary uncertainty and puzzlement, the question of her sanity was always very real, now playing on each mind that stared so blank, and bleak.
Nobody laughed, nor dared to speak.