I was only nine years old. I loved Shrek so much, I had all the merchandise and movies. I’d pray to Shrek every night before I go to bed, thanking for the life I’ve been given. “Shrek is love”, I would say, “Shrek is life”. My dad hears me and calls me a faggot. I knew he was just jealous for my devotion of Shrek. I called him a cunt. He slaps me and sends me to go to sleep. I’m crying now and my face hurts. I lay in bed and it’s really cold. A warmth is moving towards me. I feel something touch me. It’s Shrek. I can’t see his face but I hear his voice. He says, “It’s okay little boy, you’re safe now.” Then I feel a warm kiss on my forehead. The warmth leaves and I’m alone again, except that I know I’m not.

The next day I tell my mom about what happened last night. She tells me Shrek is real and she has seen him too. She gets angry at me for calling her a cunt and asks if I want to go with her. I agree and we leave together. We walk up an old dirt road and turn down a path to a house. This isn’t like any house I’ve ever been in before. There are lots of people inside. They look normal but they have weird clothes on and their skin color is different. Some of them don’t even talk or move, just stare at nothing. There are beds everywhere. Some of the kids are crying, some are sleeping. My mom takes me to one of the beds and lays me down. I ask why am I here? Why do I need to be in this place where no one speaks or moves?

“I’m sorry, son. You’re special,” she says as she strokes my hair. “You were sent here because you needed help. It’s okay, everything will be all right soon.”

She tells me to close my eyes. I open them back up immediately because there are children in the room. They don’t speak, they just watch us. My mom starts talking to them and tells them to take care of me. One of the children comes over and touches my hand. Its shrek