Cold. It's cold in here. It's also quiet. I'm scared and writing helps.
I've never been alone before. Never. Always before I had people with me, people around me. People. People who talked and laughed and sighed and cried, who stayed and left and stayed again.
I don't know how I am writing. I have no pen or pencil or paper or word processor ( and I couldn't use one anyway). I think I'm just thinking, saying this in my head. But it helps.
It's dark here too and I've been here for a long time. No-one knows I'm here. I can't move or talk and no-one can see me - at least, I think some people know that I'm here, but they don' know that I'm here. Does that make sense? No? Well, nothing much does. It makes sense to me.
It isn't so bad here, but I wish I could see something. Or someone. I hear them sometimes, walking. Sometimes they talk to me, but they don't know I'm here.
Sometimes I try to call out. Sometimes I think that someone hears me. I have the oddest feeling that I've feared this for a long time without expecting it. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't this. There was a time before when I thought about this but not all the time, not very much, on no not much. But I wish I had because I wasn't ready, I didn't expect this.
It came as a shock, I was there and then I wasn't but I still was, does that make sense? Then I was here and here I've been for a very long time without anybody but they are there somewhere I know it.
I wish it wasn't so dark. So cold. But is it. I thought it would all end after the end came, but it didn't end at all, it just got dark and they put me here in here and under the dirt. But I can't feel the dirt because I can't feel anything, not any more.
They've stopped coming to see me; they stopped a long time ago, a long time ago, forever ago. I don't know - I don't know what time is but I used to know.
It's dark in here and cold and oh so quiet and I think I'm losing my mind.
I've never been alone before. Never. Always before I had people with me, people around me. People. People who talked and laughed and sighed and cried, who stayed and left and stayed again.
I don't know how I am writing. I have no pen or pencil or paper or word processor ( and I couldn't use one anyway). I think I'm just thinking, saying this in my head. But it helps.
It's dark here too and I've been here for a long time. No-one knows I'm here. I can't move or talk and no-one can see me - at least, I think some people know that I'm here, but they don' know that I'm here. Does that make sense? No? Well, nothing much does. It makes sense to me.
It isn't so bad here, but I wish I could see something. Or someone. I hear them sometimes, walking. Sometimes they talk to me, but they don't know I'm here.
Sometimes I try to call out. Sometimes I think that someone hears me. I have the oddest feeling that I've feared this for a long time without expecting it. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't this. There was a time before when I thought about this but not all the time, not very much, on no not much. But I wish I had because I wasn't ready, I didn't expect this.
It came as a shock, I was there and then I wasn't but I still was, does that make sense? Then I was here and here I've been for a very long time without anybody but they are there somewhere I know it.
I wish it wasn't so dark. So cold. But is it. I thought it would all end after the end came, but it didn't end at all, it just got dark and they put me here in here and under the dirt. But I can't feel the dirt because I can't feel anything, not any more.
They've stopped coming to see me; they stopped a long time ago, a long time ago, forever ago. I don't know - I don't know what time is but I used to know.
It's dark in here and cold and oh so quiet and I think I'm losing my mind.