7 September 2012
I cannot remember how I came to be here.
I cannot remember a life before.
Before this, before what I am now, before pain.
But what is pain? I have heard them thinking, loudly: 'the pain'.
I can hear their thoughts.
Words like 'torture' and 'abuse' sprinting the length of their brutish heads.
That must be what I feel.
Pain.
A foreign concept to me.
I am an experiment.
One of the experiments. Plural.
But because I have known nothing less, I am 'willing'.
I know no other life.
I know no life where humans have non-blue skin. Where they cannot read the thoughts of others. Or levitate themselves great distances.
This is what I am.
Am I not human?
The whitecoats are 'evil', so I've heard one experiment think.
The others think things too, some of them.
Others just have a dull noise. As if any ounce of humanity is gone.
They are shells.
I am a shell, in a way: I know nothing.
They teach me, the whitecoats.
They teach me colours, like my blue skin.
They teach me how to read a person's mind.
I don't know why.
I don't know what for.
Is there another reason for my existence?
I don't know.
I don't know a lot.
Experiment 011. • Opuss № I