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Have you ever slept on your arm? Have you ever felt the kind of pain that I have to feel through the sharpness of a knife? Well, you may know my pain but do you know me? You can only know me if I was to tell you such information. Who is you’re working for? I’m working for myself. Always have been, always will be. Answer the question please.

Late October 1895, I was dumbfounded by the so-called ‘Metal Man’ who was more than a single person. I even believed that it would always be a male coming off those foggy dirt roads. Then I’m surprised by what I see, a woman screaming out in such an annoying voice. The words were always somewhere in my mind, I could never find them though. I've always been trying to find them since, looking for answers and searching for details on the ‘Metal Man’ group. These individuals would collect trash from your homes, but only if it was spare or no longer needed. They don’t just take your troubles away, they leave you to wait for the garbage trucks. They soon arrive and you’re back on board like me.

I was sick a day later, fallen ill and taken to church by my Christian family, they wanted the pain to go away. There was news about a group of individuals stealing from my local bank, taking what they needed and left behind metal frames. The placement was odd, I looked through all the video footage that was leaked online. Most of it was disbanded and soon red flagged for what it had become. These videos were vital to my cause, my sickness, my illness that made me so unwell. The videos were taken off services like Virgin Media, Sky and any others I don’t know of. There’s a chance it’s still out there, just search for it. There’s plenty of videos to go round on my cause of injury. On arrival to the church, I was blessed and told to say a few words in honor of my sickness. This sounded odd, why was I the one to speak out about my illness? I don’t know what caused it, I blame them because they arrived that day. My parents soon abandoned me in the church, leaving me to deal with whatever was left to be said. I spoke out a few words, told them all that I was probably close to the death bed, they didn't believe me. They laughed, and some of them even threw the book at me. Disrespect, an elderly lady said that to me as I lay on the floor looking at those mosaic windows.  

By the end of that, I was given the chance to speak out. The chance to talk to others about what I was suffering from. My sickness soon went World-Wide, making me an unhappy person. I felt the need to end what I thought I had started. They left me in a Hospital a week after that, my sickness caused my body to flop to the side. I lost balance, I still remember it like it was just yesterday. It happened in the morning, woke up and then next thing I know.. I’m laying down with serious pains in my chest. My heart still beating and the feeling of dread overcame me. The nurses told me that I was going to make a full recovery, and I couldn't help but think I was responsible due to the ongoing calls I received. All clear with loud voices, shouting at me like I was some kind of villain. No, I was the one who needed help, serious medical attention. They tell me I’m fine but I still feel sick. How can they make me feel so down? Make me feel like death is nothing important. I wouldn't know, I've never been through it. I prayed at that church, I treated it like my final hours. How idiotic can I be? Praying at a church when not even my own family believe that I’m their religion. It don’t matter though, I have what I wanted. A true sickness founded by me, given by them and taken away from me last minute.

End of October, I found myself lying on a bed, falling to pieces and the pillow looking quite worn in. How many slept in this bed? I asked myself many times and I always got the same answer: it was me who slept there, I slept in that bed. So, why am I calling myself every night and telling how it is. You will be fine, you will be fine and you will make a full recovery. No, I won’t be fine. I’m never going to be fine ever again, I’m losing it here and making the most of my time left. Early November just around the corner as I still lay there for many more days to come. The night soon came round and I was left alone in that room shivering and feeling the need to breathe in air. Heck, I was breathing in fumes, I could taste metal. End of November and they released me. The ‘Metal Man’ arrived again, my sickness was no longer with me. I told myself many times that this illness was gonna be the death of me. Why hasn't he showed up yet? Grim, himself. My parents arrived later than expected and spoke to me about moving to a different zone. Going out and never looking back ever again. My father nodded, my mother not so much caring about me. She hugged me before leaving me with nothing but my father. Thanks mother, you truly care about me. By then, I was taken advantage of and given a drug of some sort. I faded within time itself, everything slowed down and there I was lying there looking up again and again.

Repeat. Repeat.

December arrived, father was gone. Mother was lying in a road due to no services wanting to take her on. I was given time in bed, more time imaginable. And they came in with their white masks and their white shirts. I was given what I needed, medicine. The ‘Metal Man’ left me in hospital and sent a form to me. Explaining why I was sick and why I can’t get better. The nurses reassured me that any note was going to lie to you, it was always going to keep you in the dark. Christmas time came round and I didn't feel like celebrating. I felt like crawling into a hole and just lying there for weeks on end. Soon, they’ll find me and they’ll pull me out by my legs, I dangle and they laugh. Thank you friends. By the end of December, I was given time outside in a wheelchair. Handicap but still free to do what I wanted to do, drive around like usual. I found it difficult at first, it felt more like rowing than driving. Soon, I had it in me and went off towards the lake. I almost drowned on impact, I can’t swim but somehow I was saved. I awoke and I was told January had arrived, and they revealed the time and date to me on their phones. A whole group of them too, all wanting my hand and my face. Their massive hands grabbed me and I just needed time away. Just some time to think things through. Soon, I realized that the time I had left was washed away. I saw myself again, lying there with blood flowing out my mouth. Children screamed on the outside but myself cringed. I just can’t accept all this pain and forget about drowning fears. Everything soon made sense, I was quite old. They told me I was serving elderly time, and this was my time to give over.

Goodnight world, I’ll wish you a world of good. I’m sitting here in my chair still thinking about what to do with myself. I've heard them drive by, making those horrible sounds as I feel quite frantic and grab my cup of cocoa from the old table. My god, I've gotten myself old here. How else can I explain the insane rocking of this chair? It just wants me dead. It’s peaceful but I feel like my own body is giving over. It’s making me want to give in to whatever it is that wants me to fall down. Those supporters, they just want me to rock over and over again.

Forbidden to ever come back.

Farewell,

A Noble Writer A Humble Friend

Rockyz2011 (talk) 14:02, April 21, 2015 (UTC)

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