February 27th, 1983 was the first day that I had woken up. The first thing that you are supposed to see is the bright smiling face of your mother, crying; with shaky breaths, and balled up fists, screaming at the harsh world as you enter it, cradled by the soft embrace of her arms as she holds you to her chest lovingly, right? For I had not had this, I opened my eyes to the starch white ceiling, and blinding lights, straps clinging tightly at my wrists on the cold, metal table I was against. I knew nothing else, but this place, and I don’t think I ever will. I came to this world five years ago, and when I will leave it, I will never know. I am a prisoner in this world, I am not living. I have read of the skies, and the oceans, and the feel of the cold air, though I have never seen it, nor do I ever think I will. This is the life I own, a bird in a cage within myself.

November 19th, 1988,
    The sterile scent of the clean room invades my sense of smell, and pounds into my head, with each breath I feel a buried choke of disgust crawling it’s way up, but never to escape, after so long, I thought I would be used to the bitterly clean surroundings, though I am not. I sit upon a rock hard, steel framed bed, as I have every day, wondering what else there could ever be for me. As the days stretch on into empty weeks, filling my heads with hopeless and empty dreams and imagination, I begin to realize this is the only thing that I have, I know nothing else, but I, myself, am the only thing that I know. Even at this I am different from the ones that I see, I am the only one I have seen the way that I am. There is things that I can do that they cannot, and the way I look at that, is much different. Is this such a bad thing or am I getting caught up in my own thoughts again like I have so many times before? They are drenched in white coats that conceal the entirety of their body, their faces shielded within a black mask, I cannot even peer into the empty eyes they claim to have. The only appearance I have seen of another being; at that a human, was among the pages of matted books, though the paintings were obscure, and made out a structure different from my own; and from the ones that monitor me, my creators. They must look relatively like I? I could pass as a mortal if I tried, i’m sure, though it must be given away so easily. My snow white hair, and singular coal black streak upon it, soft lavender eyes stricken with gold, my pupils; not black, but a deep, henna brown. A weight of just ninety pounds, but I appear healthy to a human's standard, I do not even look relatively sick. I stand at six foot four inches, I am very fit and thin but all I can do is pace, and do mindless workouts to occupy the energy within my body, gained for the little food I need to maintain my health. But, I have no mirror, I have only seen myself the way others see me, snapped in photos tucked into my experimental folder.

November 20th, 1988,
   Why does it seem the longer I sit here, the longer the days get. Every time I begin to slip into the absence of thoughts, they pound back into my skull like an angry barrage waiting to see me fall. I’ve stared endlessly at the pages, smudged with the ink to form words, that are supposed to mean something, to anyone really. I have read these words over, and over, and over… they mean nothing to me, I remember them all, letter by letter, though I still find myself staring down at the open pages just to search for something. Every word among the paper, bound in leather, five hundred and thirty five pages, all composed from only twenty six letters. My mind lets me forget nothing. Nothing. This has become the absence of my life, simply searching for something, anything that I could do to make me feel less alone. I cannot forget a single thing I read, see, smell, hear… it drives me to insanity, no matter how much they try and make me, what they have made me into is irreversible. I remember the sound of each human's breath, how fast or how slow, and the way each one writes. They have tried to stop the deformities I can muster within myself that are beyond inhuman, though it will never fade from my body like they wished endlessly that it could. They made me this way, and now after all this time, they realize that it was indeed a mistake that could possibly haunt them. At times I take empty time from my empty day, to sit back on the muscle aching bed, digging for any emotions I might have to begin to wish. Wish that someday, I can use the things that they have done to me to free myself. The regret it now, though I want to keep them up in the nights when they already could not sleep, swimming in their heads and dreams, bringing them terror to the thought of sleep. I want to drive them to insanity, as they slowly have to me all this time.
They always ask me what it is I have begun to wish for, of course I cannot tell them what I truly want, but it is all simple. I wish not be here any longer; though I do not know how to live as a human being would, I am no human, nor do I know how to live the life of one. Simple human emotions evade from my body, leaving me senseless in this space. An empty vessel that has to be taught how to pretend I understand what an emotion feels like.

November 21th, 1988,
   I have been absent in so many things for so long, and I have begun to feel even less so than normal. All I have begun to do is urn for the touch of the outside.. But not only that, I have begun to feel emptiness, some sort of loneliness, but at the same time I want nobody here. The lab rats that scurry in, in their long white lab coats, and black masks that conceal their face are the only sense of connection to the outside world that I have, but it leaves me wondering if there is more than them. Everything that they do, has become all the more less bearable. It is not painful.. No, not painful, just, shrouding my senses with pure irritability. I’ve begun to watch them as they press the needles into my skin, to invade my veins with whatever material seems sensible to them, flooding my cells with toxins they’re hoping I can withstand, revealing their carelessness, and disposability to my existence. To me; I am the only one that is like me that I know. All I want anymore is to lay back, and draw in the breaths of freedom, and feel the grass prickle through my shirt and caress my back. I want to see the dancing colors that paint the sky as the sun salutes the day, and fades into the night to let the moon breath. Hear the sound of waves swallowing up the sandy beaches, spitting out the shells and foam among the shore, spraying salty water into the air as it does. I want to be blanketed with the cold water that falls from the sky, they call it the rain...I want the rain; I have seen all of these things once, and only once, among the poorly printed, black and white photos of the books. Do I want another being here.. Or do I just want to stop being myself.

November 22nd, 1988,
   I’ve heard them begin to talk more and more about this new object they want to place into this world with me, for me, that it will be like me. They think I can never hear them, though I always do, I just cannot comprehend the thought of having another here, is that selfish, or is it normal to feel as such. Why do I have such a train of thought; Will it be like me, or such a lesser being, or will I be quarantined to this room more so than ever, teaching it to cope with the inadequate living situation we are forced into facing. The poor creature will be open into this world with another they will truly see as a threat, though am I actually a threat to another, or do they just think I am?
I do not have the emotion of fear, though I am.. In a way, not open to having another here, though I am unsure if it because I am selfish in my manner of living, or do I happen to feel bad for the idea of another having to live this way as I do. They should not have to suffer this way, no one should but I; for it is simply how I have made it my whole life, I know no other way, and I am still unsure if there will ever be a day that I do.

  November 23rd, 1988,
It is here now, though it, is a her. I have never seen another thing that looks this way, especially a female of the kind. I don’t know what she can do, or how she may act; I know one of the biggest differences we have already, she shows emotion, as I do not. She has shown nothing but fear since she has been created, and opened her eyes and let them land upon me. She looks as I do, though stands about thirteen inches short than I, and sits at about seventy, to seventy five pounds, but has the same stature. She looks like she is a healthy weight, very thin, though fit, she has the same lavender eyes with gold around her odd brown pupil, and snowy white hair. They approached us openly, with cloths clutched tightly in their hands, and wrapped them tightly around our eyes, and bound our hands. I had not fought it, stood motionless and silent as we had rehearsed over and over, though she protested silently, like a fear stricken doe protesting the outstretched claws of a hungry wolf. They carried us outward through the long hallways, I know the way this place looks, due to my sense of hearing and touch, though she seems confused by it all. She was like a lost puppy, shaken by the way she had been pulled away from the warm breast of her mother, to the cold outside world, left alone. We were casted out barefoot, barefoot as we always were, and when we heard the heavy metal doors scrape against the stone floor to stand open, a blast of chilling air, rushed forward to nearly knock us back, sending us staggering mentally, more so than physically. It hurt our lungs at first; I could tell, by the soft stunned noise she made, she had never felt this before, nor have I. We were jerked forward like a dog on a chain, and the doors snapped closed behind us, and when we stepped forward, it was into the soft convent of powder that sank above our feet, and numbed our toes, and up our shin. Our body temperatures; much lower than normal, were revealed in the air with each breath we took, it was subtle compared to the breaths of the lab rats the pressed through their masks. They went to take her a few paces away from me, and she had fallen back in protest against me, and I became still as her body collided with mine. As she drew closer, her breath grew shaky and hot against my skin, her breath, spiraling out of her mouth like chilled tendrils reaching out of the darkness and into the light. Her lips dropped to a blue hue, and trembled with the cold, though she begun to lower her head, and as her mouth pressed to my arm to shield her face from the cold embrace of the air, her lips were ice cold against my pale skin, untouchable to the human skin for it would feel purely petrifying. She became cold to my touch; realizing that I was no embrace to shield her from the arctic world we now stood in. What this was I was unsure of, for this was the first time I had ever felt anything aside from the tile beneath my feet in the lab that we lived in. I was left awestruck and wondering what this world of the mortal beings was, and what it meant to them, though knowing my stand still I knew that I would never know. Did they have the respect for this world that I had now, or was it bitterly taken advantage of. We were two, becoming one, as she melted into my touch. My eyes, transparent, lit up by the dull light shining across the metal cage above us that kept us in. She whimpered softly and stared up at me, wincing at the light that shone from above.
  “What is it..”
Her voice, so sweet, like an overflowing hive, dripping honey onto the lavender below, kissing the buds as it travels with the coaxing whispers of gravity.

I remained silent. I didn’t know what it was, I saw no need to answer her if I had nothing to tell her. The head of one of the creators; a red line stained over their mask to individualize them, c***ed to the side when he heard her voice.
His voice, rocky and heavy,
“You are standing in snow, the light above you is sun”
My throat became tight as I stood without motion, staring at the ground below us. This is the snow i’ve read of for so long, the sun, colder than they ever said, but wrapped me in a blanket of freedom. I clenched my toes, to dig them down the bottom of the fallen snow, digging them into the moist, cold dirt below. Closing my eyes so lightly, taking a deep breath of the chilling air. A taste at some sort of freedom, the closest thing I had to it at least. I don’t know why, after all this time, they take me out now, if it is snowing now, it surely has before, correct? A small light emitted from the heel of my foot, before twisting up my leg, like a dancer with a ribbon, small spark prickling outward away from it. They lab rats begun frantically scribbling across the pages, snapping the bindings tight against my wrists once more. I again, did not move, did not make a sign, though I let it happen, even if I didn’t know how I had done it. The light came to the palm of my hands before it danced around me in the shape of a large timber wolf. I have never seen one, my own mind begun to startle me as it had made up the shape of things I had never seen, things I had never thought I could see.