I read the first page.
Just an introduction, and yet it means everything to me.
This is my details, my past, my appearance.
This is me.
Next page, we dig deeper.
And deeper.
The story goes on.
I am the author.
Yet I have no control of what happens to me.
I cannot stand this chapter.
The pain and memories reflected towards me.
Black ink on white paper.
So bland and boring.
A terrible representation of what is going on.
When does this chapter end?
End please.
I cannot take it anymore.
Turn the page.
Seal your fate.
It is written that you are fake.
A new chapter finally.
Everything starts off well.
Turn the page.
This chapter is the same as the last one.
The next one is the same too.
The same torture goes on for pages and pages.
The more I try to turn away from it, the worse it gets.
I cannot take it anymore.
Turn the page.
Seal your fate.
It is written that I am fake.
The last chapter.
Should I be afraid?
It starts off okay...
So far nothing...
Just an empty hallway with pages of my life scattered across the floor.
I walk on them.
No.
I am walking over them.
I walk, jog, run, float over them with such ease.
Euphoria consumes me.
I am free.
No more turning the pages.
No more paper cuts of life.
No more losing my place of what is going on around me.
The end of the hallway nears.
One page hovers against the wall.
Fake.
I fall down.
I cannot take it anymore.
No more pages to turn.
It's the end, I've sealed my fate.
It is permanent that I am fake.
It is permanent that I am fake.
It is a permanent death.