Dark brown eyes, with a hint of gold to them, stare at me from inside the image. I look at it trying to decipher every move it makes. Why is it looking at me like that, as if I were an art piece that they can't figure out?

Its eyes flicker suddenly to the side, as if it sees something. My eyes flicker as well, for I see a figure behind it. Who is this figure, is it another person coming to stare at me, trying to decipher why I'm looking the way I'm looking.

A slight breeze catches me as the door to the room opens. I don't glance to see who it is, I really don't care. The figure behind the person I am staring at has moved again, now it is closer.

I want to tell them to watch out, that something is sneaking up behind them. I can't though, I wish I could but I can't, for I am mute. I haven't always been this way, it actually happened a few years ago.

I remember that day like nothing else. I was riding home from a boy's basketball game in the town over with four of my closest friends. We were singing to the music, and gossiping about boys, like we normally do.

Our spirits were high, for we had finally beaten our rivals for the first time in fifteen years. My best friend Mia was driving, her boyfriend Daniel was the lead point guard of the team. We were all dating one of the guys.

My boyfriend was the main shooter of the team, Noah. Anyways, we were on our way to the local pizza station, for the after party, when a bright light came from the left side of the car.

There wasn't time for any of us to scream as the other car slammed into our car. I do remember after it hit someone screaming. The pitch of the scream was loud, but not as loud as the sound of the metal colliding.

I realized later that it had been me who had screamed. It was that scream that was the very last sound to come out of my mouth. All three of my friends had died on impact, the driver of the other vehicle still lies in critical condition.

It was an intentional crash, the kid was a member of our rival school, and he was angry at our win. So he took out the one thing he knew would hurt our team, their girls. He came at us doing nearly ninety miles per hour. It was extremely lucky that I was alive and well.

Though I didn't come out of the crash the same I was before it happened. Besides being mute, four of my ribs were broke. I had a punctured lung, and a concussion. Except there was no known cause for me being mute.

My vocal cords were intact and still perfect; my throat though sore was in great condition. The doctor's said it was a psychological thing; maybe they are right I don't know.

I went almost a year in school, before my parents couldn't handle it anymore. I remember them yelling at me, 'Get over it Chloe, they are dead and aren't coming back, it's been a year, you need to speak, you need to live your life!'

I silently cried for three hours straight that night, never once making a sound. It was then my parents decided to throw me in here. I was still angry at them for that. I'm not crazy, and I wasn't then. I can't help it that I can't talk, it's just the way it is.

That's right; I'm in a mental asylum, a psychiatric hospital, what ever you want to call it. I'm here because my parents couldn't handle my condition, because a trauma occurred in my life that caused me to change my behavioral patterns.

It's not fair, as I sit in the lunch room I see anorexic girls who refuse to eat, bulimic girls who scarf everything down. I see people who talk to themselves, and those who think they are being followed.

I'm not like them, I'm not crazy, and I just can't speak. I can't help it. The drugs they give me, they make me hallucinate, and they make me weird. I can't stand it I want out. They said if I start talking again I would be let out. I don't know if I can though. It's too hard.

The figure behind the person I am looking at is suddenly behind them. I want to scream for them tell them that they are there and they will hurt them. I don't have a chance to, because suddenly a hand touches my shoulder.

I am lead away from the person, and towards the support group room. I realized then, that the person I was staring at was me. It was my reflection, the object was a mirror. Am I crazy?