I'm just a girl in a world without people. I came here because there's nothing more tragic than being ordinary, and I thought in seclusion I could make myself interesting. But now the exit's gone.

I wasn't like this before. When I had an escape, I didn't do these things.

I meander across these vacant flower fields, bruising my esteem a lavender-blue with this cynicism that circles my mind like a single, hungry vulture. And I crumble against this slate-gray city that stabs the horizon with all its toothy geometry and I scream. I tumble towards my voice's echo, grasping its hollow respiration with fingers bent desperately into claws. I am alone. My only predator is myself.

Someone save me.

I chose this, all those years ago. This is what I'd wanted: this solitude, this me.

The door is gone. The door is gone.

Someone kill me.

If I die here, will I rot? Or will the cycles of death abandon me too? Everything is static. My eyes are venom. My heart is thunder. My skin is boiling molasses on the brink of caramelization.

I came here because I wanted to feel something.

And I do.

REGRET.