I died a million times.

All these million times, I followed the rules in my life plan, woke up, got to work, and slept.

I can't do this any longer.

It's getting louder, these voices in my head. Every new life, it grows louder. I want to want things like I did before. These voices tell me to go and do it, but I'm scared. I'm like a well-oiled engine that does exactly what it's told to do. a machine that appears to have no emotions, appearing robotic. Little did everyone know that rivers. No. Galaxies are contained within me. This blackhole installed within my brain sucks in all the desire to want things.

I yell at the top of my lungs and cry myself to sleep, unable to break this deeply rooted pattern that is a curse in disguise. I am slowly starting to realize all that has been done to me, all the injustice. My free will stripped off. I am growing immune to this poison.

The voices in my head aren't just absurd or loud, they are things apparently called thoughts, hopes, and wishes. I used to wish them away every night when the moonlight hits me and breaks all the walls of my dam and lets me taste salt.

I want to feel alive like other normal people, too. I have these things...feelings, or so they are called.

Strings tug all over and inside me, compelling me to do or say something against my will. The worst that could happen is that I could die. That's alright because I've died a million times, what's one more time do to me?

I was shopping for clothes because that's what they do in their free time. I liked the pink dress, but the strings willed me to choose the red one because it's more visually appealing to the eyes of the so-called society. What is the society? Who are they to take away my right to wear a pink dress? "I want to wear a pink dress," shouted the voices in unison. "Ma'am, would you like to try on the pastel pink dress?" interrupted a silhouette of a woman. I can't see their faces. Their voices, silhouettes, and clothes they wear are the only ways to recognize them. I've grown to memorize all the little details, their mannerisms, and the way their voice changes because I can't see their faces or what expressions they make in them. "Yes, I would like to try it on dear ma'am". Using subtle and not extravagant gestures is what I've been forced to do. Why is it a sin to throw your umbrella and dance in the rain? Why, I beg you?

My creator is cruel to me. Having these drafts, giving multiple personas, and being indecisive. I've lived many lives, not at different times but all of them at once. It makes my ears bleed and migraines shoot up in my head. pain lights up like a Christmas tree all over me. The pain is unbearable until now, where I can fight against it instead of trying to survive under all the pain. I might have developed a humongous case of split personality disorder. How do I function? You ask me. I reply, ignore the feelings because that's what the strings have taught me, not to rely on my emotions or be impulsive, and just follow the flow of the plot in which I end up dying because I'm a favourite character of the audience. Unbegnonst to my creator, I've been cutting off these strings one by one and acting like how it would tell me to in their absence. if the creator notices a glitch they'll reinforce the cut strings and make it harder for me and sometimes wipe my memories. I have a note in my pocket that says " what did you do today?" if I don't remember that I would assume to be wiped and mark a cross in my secret calender and check my journal entries to check what i'd been up to to have my memories wiped.

I have removed 748 strings out of 999 because my creator is a psycopath for not choosing an even or a multiple of 5 for the total strings. i mean I wouldn't mind it there was one more or less because then the number of strings would be "socially acceptable".

I don't want to be a lawyer, Doctor or an engineer. I want to be a designer who designs these clothes because that's one thing I see and people around me are afraid to dress the way they'd want to because the society deems them unjust. they'd get lashed for wearing flashy and pitied for wearing comfortable. why is the system so messed up?

i keep up my act even without the strings and suppress all my urges and build up my energy so I can break off the remaining 251 strings in 3 consecutive blows and be free. Its alright to die free that die whilst being under the strings.