Books cause dangerous thoughts

It’s hard to remember that I was once whole. Yes, at one time my body was smooth, perfect and completely untouched by this treacherous world, and that was only five years ago. And look at me now. A decrepit shell of what I once was, now deformed, hurt and hunted.

They did this to me. Oh, they’ll say I did this to myself, with my actions, by they did it. Their hands held the scalpels, the needles, and the pins that held my eyes open.

I’m lucky to be alive, really. Part of me knows that, the part that doesn’t lament my lot in life, or rather the “civilized” world containing my lot.

I am different. I always was. The only difference now is my appearance, a physical manifestation of my insides. They’ve made me look the part of the monster they claim I am.

I am no monster, however, I am a free thinker.