Did someone make me exist? Was I forced into existence? Did I always exist? I only remember this place. The darkness. I remember the bugs, and the crying and laughing voices.

I didn't manage to cut my arms open, the nails weren't long enough nor strong enough. Maybe I am the one who's not strong enough.

The laughing voices have continued laughing. However sometimes they tell me things. You are apparently reading what I say. But you can't do anything to help me. Maybe I should stop telling you what's going on, I don't want you to feel bad for me, and less now that I know you can't help in any way.

So let's just imagine I am in a green field, with birds chirping and flowers everywhere. I like pink flowers. The sky is blue, but with clouds. The sky without clouds is sad and empty.

Continue thinking that. I think whoever put me here wants you to suffer. Maybe I am here just to make you suffer, maybe my suffering is only a tool. Let's not give my torturer that satisfaction.

The field is gently brushed by the wind, the grass dancing like waves of silky green.

It smells like fresh bread and definitely not like my rotting flesh.

My name doesn't matter, the voices won't tell me it anyways.