I am alone. Physically separate from all life. It makes me feel a little warm inside my veins. One learns in grammar school that the sun is our ultimate energy source. It produces light and heat, and the lesser individual usually confuses the two to be the same. They're not; but I will go on to say that one may cause the other. My light, my source of happy warmth, is my knowledge.

I hold onto my shining light—firmly. Death grip comes to mind. All is well, though. If I didn't hold onto my knowledge it might just slither away. That would not do at all! I will never forget. How would I be able to live without his memory? How? So I'm going to choke this memory into submission so that is never leaves. I wonder if he's forgotten me? He hasn't visited in such a long time. As I said—I am very lonely.

Light is not common in my room. Only the little, multicolored flashings of his toys dance across my eyes. He loves his toys. So much so that I am never, under any circumstances, allowed to touch them. I can't help but laugh at his spoiled mentality. I cannot say that I understand his stinginess, but then again I don't understand anything about him. Ah! This recognition triggers my light! It's coming as a white, hot blaze, and if I don't let the fire escape it will burn a hole straight through me! My brain burns with my knowledge; my blood boils with it; I wouldn't be shocked at all if my eyes were glowing. I must let it out.

"I don't get you!" rushes out of my mouth. I can still faintly hear my scream echo down the halls outside of my room. It puts a smile on my face to hear such a pretty sound. It's even more soothing to know he heard it. That fact merits a chuckle.

"Don't scream. Please cease your crying," crackles one of his many strange toys with electricity. This stops my laughing. My body no longer quakes with my fits of giggling, but shivers with intense cold. I pull my naked body together into a tight ball to impede my vibrating limbs. My room was already cold, but his voice seeping through the toy fixed to the wall brought in the ice.

His voice is soft and sly, and I hear it often. That exact phrase I have heard twenty-six times already. I mostly get that particular command thrown at me when he takes me to his room. You see, I scream a lot. I seem to really frustrate him when he's trying to concentrate on dipping his knives through my skin and tissue or hooking me up to one of his beeping toys. Nothing adds to my pain more than the softness of his tone—then and now. These memories make me want to retch.

There once was a time when I did not now this place, and I was free and comfortable. However, my happiness did not last. I soon went off to find more than what I had, that is the natural thing to do after all. Can you possibly fathom my joy when I found him? You cannot! He noticed me out of all others, and gave me his confidence. So I in turn gave him mine. I deeply wish I hadn't. Soon I found him in the company of many women-- all of them lovely in their white dresses that reflected the noon sun. Seeing them all together in my home scattered my heart across the globe. Feeling their thin hands grip my arm as they dragged me away brought my heart back together.

I have been in his house ever since; living unchanged and unloved with him and his ladies. Their dresses are no longer white, though. Now they're just smeared with the red their violence has spawned-- my blood! I will not die until they have returned my blood to me. No! I take that back! I will take any blood. I will take theirs. One has already paid the price. I see her slowly fading pink lips in glow of the clock on the wall. This device now servers as my countdown clock. It ticks away my seconds, minutes, and hours so frivolously. Without caring in the slightest that it's throwing away my life. It doesn't know (or care) that I'm dying for a man's fascination; dying to get out. The hours, however, still flounce away, and I still feel lonely. I really think I'm in the mood to pay him a visit. The smile this thought brings me is like no other, the feeling is fantastic. You know what? I think I'll be darling, and actually pay him a visit (as if I hadn't been planning that all along).

It just so happens that, miraculously, a rather thin knife found on a shelf in my room was wedged between the door to the outside hall and its post. This has caused the door to remain ajar ever since my mid-day meal was delivered by the lovely lady nestled on my floor. I must say that marvel at the entire design of this scheme. It leaves me breathless! I, however, feel that I am not dressed-up enough for my friend, and that to remedy this, I must lower my moral standing, and steal. Daintily, I relieve the one on the floor of her little red number-- the one with the cutouts on the back that I made myself. I can't say my mannequin appreciated the cut outs, though. She's been acting strangely ever since. This merits another small laugh.

All dressed-up, and feel ready for fun, I pull my knife from the door and make my way (I know it well) to his room. Halfway there and already an alarm goes off, but this won't stop me even though my body is torn, or make me lose my cool. I want to see his eyes when he realizes that I want to play with his toys too. What I really want is to hear his soft voice go harsh. All along the halls that I pass are clocks-- they throw away my time even out here, only now its counting down seconds instead of hours.

Noise is everywhere, but I don't think I'm hearing it exactly as it should be heard. You see, I've reached his door. Thin hands are grabbing me from behind, but they fail to gain traction. Still, the white, hot memory comes, and bursts through my mouth as a piercing scream. I explode through the door and a loud bang follows me as I slam the door on their dainty fingers. I can hear cries of agony from the outside, but that doesn't matter, because I see his eyes, and he knows. He and I both will never forget.

"Don't scream," I sing to him.