“Memories are unreliable…”
Max paused, hesitated actually. He’d rehearsed aloud what he was going to say so many times—despite not needing to remember the words—that he’d fooled himself into believing it all sounded reasonable. But now, he was about to say the words out loud to another person, the most critical person he could possibly tell his truth to.
I’d lock myself up if I thought I was really a danger. I’d have myself committed to a psychiatric hospital. I would. To keep from hurting someone. I don’t want it to come to that. But I’d do it. Continue reading
My name is Dolores Potterson. But everyone calls me Dotty Potsy. It’s a long story. It’s a doozy. And almost no one believes it, which is why they say I’m dotty.
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