And her name was Selene.

You know those stories? Selene does.

The stupid stories of a new girl transferring in the middle of the year, and her adventures in a new school, desperately trying to fit in? With the whole school hating her, and only one person who’s nice?

That happened.

That happened oh so close to home for Selene.

Stupid fools.

Did they even know why she transferred?

Why she had to change her name, her family background?

Tip tap tip, and a-home the children go…..

Hearing that infernal song played over and over again by that infernal girl on her infernal mp3 player.

“Selene, hey, are you listening to me?”

Sheri-berry, aren’t you sweet, sending your children home?

“I know it’s a dumb song, but my dad used to play it for me on the piano a lot when I was little…”

The stupid girl fluffed a strand of her stupidly shiny blonde hair.

“Selene?”

Drip drap drip, waiting a-ways for homecoming, my love…

Dripping.

Tapping.

Like the damn watercooler in the socialworker’s office, like the damn socialworker’s damn nails against her damn desk.

Damn woman.

Blabbing on the phone to her friend during work hours…

“I’m telling you, this kid’s like a demon or something. She just stares you down with those creepy red eyes of hers…and she’s got a nasty holier-than-thou attitude, especially towards me…you know, I’m just trying to help her, after all of the cops thinks she killed her parents….I know, right?! What did I ever do to her?”

Poor baby.

Bam.

Baby goes bye-bye.

Just like mommy and daddy.

“Selene? Are you okay?”

Ring ring morning, fly away fly away, but not again, not again…

Stupid school.

Stupid art museum field trip.

Selene didn’t even like art. (But it was either that or woodshop.)

So she went.

No need to scare the new socialworker.

And plus…Selene didn’t want to have to make her go bye-bye…

Mommy loves you, Selene…no matter what you do…

“Selene?”

Shut up.

Infernal girl.

No wonder you have no friends.

You’re so annoying.

I don’t need your friendship.

Thank-you, girly.

Thank-you so much.

Now girly needs to go bye-bye.

“Selene, what’s the matter? What’s with that weird look in your—”

Bam.

Bye-bye.

“Selene, what the—oh dear lord what did you do?!”

Stupid teacher.

Don’t get in my business.

Bam.

Bye-bye teacher.

Mind your own business, everyone.

Stop staring or you’ll go by-bye too.

Too late:

Bam.

Bye-bye.

But I’m so sad.

Sad like when mommy and daddy went bye-bye.

Maybe daddy had been right.

Maybe making people go bye-bye is what makes people not like me.

No, fool. It’s not you, it’s them. If they have a problem with you, with me, with us, then they deserve “to go bye-bye”…

But it makes me sad…when they go bye-bye…they’re not here anymore…

Then…maybe…

Don’t do it…

Maybe I’ll…

Fool! Don’t do it…!

Maybe I’ll go bye-bye too—

“I thank you all for coming in dear memory of Selene Corrigan,” the priest said, straightening his robes, “and of the sophomore art class of Nelson High School.”

The wind whipped bitterly against the thin coats and scarves and mittens of the mourners.

“This whole incident should teach us all something: to accept all children with loving arms, no matter what problems they might encounter or happen to be struck with. And here with us today is Ms. Jeanne Forstadt, the nation’s leading researcher for multiple personality disorders.”