The Burn Journals Read Online Free

here, but I can't move my mouth, and my throat is dry from all the cold air they're making me breathe. I'm so cold. I wish I had a blanket or a sweater. I guess I do have a blanket, but I'm still so cold. Maybe when we get to the hospital, they'll give me another blanket or a pair of sweatpants. My body hurts, everything everywhere hurts. I close my eyes.
             
    Something's different, I'm outside again. It's windy. No, it's not. I'm in an elevator, I can tell because of the doors and the lights. Who is that woman talking to me? How does she know my name? She looks like that other woman on that TV show I saw.
    And now there are even more lights and lots of people wearing masks. They're putting me on a metal table. And it's so cold, it's so cold. And everybody's talking, but nobody's talking to me. Somebody just said my urine is red. I don't want red urine. I want to cry and I want to sleep.
    I want to go back.

February 5, 1991
Children's National Medical Center
Washington, D.C.

    There's a balloon and a room.

    There's a balloon and something funny with breathing.

    Why is there so much noise and so much trouble breathing? Why is it always night?

    Stop tearing. They are tearing at me. Tearing away my skin. Please stop. Please.
    Boys like in algebra. Trouble with the boys. We're standing in the parking garage. Let's go down into the garage. Let's burn. Let's set fires. Let's set me on fire. I don't want to be on fire. I want to be home. Woman with the black curly hair here to save me. Woman with the black curly hair carries me away. Save me.
             
    I think the woman brought me waffles, the woman that takes care of me. She brings me waffles and says I'll be okay and I don't have to worry about anything. Except I don't remember eating them. I think there's something in my mouth and I can't open my eyes.
             
    Stop. It's not time to do this now. Stop trying to unwrap me. Everything hurts. Please don't do this now. I wish I could talk and say something so she'd understand me.
             
    There's something plastic in my mouth keeping me from saying anything.
             
    I can't talk. They give me a big marker so I can write. I'm supposed to write what I want to say. But the marker is too hard to hold and I forget what most of the letters look like.
             
    I try to write. I try to write what I'm thinking, but to write, you have to remember the beginning of the word and the ending of the word you're writing so that you can write down the whole word at the same time.
             
    There's a camera in the balloon. I know because every time the balloon moves, there is a sound like a hidden camera and that means that they're watching me, but I don't know who they are yet.
             
    Now they want me to talk to them with this board? They point at the letters and I blink when I want them to stop. And I spell out the words, but it's hard to remember what I'm trying to say. I want to say, I want to go home. I want to go home. They tell me that home is fine and I'll be home soon. But I want to be home now.
             
    I feel like there's a rod in my side.
             
    If they unplug me, I'll die. If they unplug me, I'll die. I could die. Maybe I should ask them to unplug me. But I don't want to die anymore.
    Mom and Dad are always here. And I think I saw Grandma and Grandpa and Nanny and Grandpa and Uncle Tom or somebody that looked like Uncle Tom, but I haven't seen Craig. Where is Craig?
             
    Mom says there's a girl next door who's hurt like me. She says the girl is my age and she got hurt the same day as me. The girl's name is Maggie.
             
    The Hispanic boy comes and lifts my arms. He has brown hair, brown eyes, and he's very nice. Everyone is nice.
             
    Sometimes they come into my room and pull out the tubes and I can't breathe, and they pour salt water down my throat and I still