Two months later...
Pain. Torture. This is all I can think about, day and night, week after week. Blood, everywhere. Gushing out as they re-open my wounds, re-stick the needles, my skin, barely visible. I sometimes ponder how no single one of us has deceased from all this torture. I have grown to adapt, in some way. I have discovered that if you wish to remain at least... slightly sane, you must endure... and possibly even take joy in the blood seeping out of your skin. I..am sane. The first few days after realizing this, I was shocked. Seeing my blood just fall while I was being skinned, amputated, impaled, and burned. I didn't want to go insane, I couldn't. By that time, I was already seeing shadows staring at me in the corner. I had to stop it. Haven't I already?
I wonder how I got here. Did I deserve this? Of course not. Some of the people here have forgotten how to speak. I haven't. Now, all they remember how to do is scream. Last night, I pleaded the thing for an answer to why, why it's doing this-this...thing, why is it hurting us?! There are children, men, women, poor and old. Why do they deserve this? Why do I? ...And it just stared forward, like it didn't even hear me. I feel useless. All I can do is gush out blood. All I can do is feel responsible for hurting others. All I can do is sit here, crying. Going crazy inside my own head. Seeing these shadows, thinking these thoughts. I'm going to end up like them. I'm hopeless. I don't know who I am anymore. I've just been lying to myself. I don't know where I came from, I...
Then, I heard a knock.
I was shocked. My senses, rushing to my head, though just barely. The door slammed open. It was a woman. She loomed over me, like a white knight. She seemed flushed, though functional. She doesn't go here. She opens her chapped lips,
"Come with me. Now."