no. please.


no!!


get away from me. Don't come any closer.


I don't want to be one of you!!!


ALL MUST CONFORM OR THEY WILL BE TERMINATED


Please!! I beg you.


I don't want to lose everything I've had. All the knowledge.


I don't want to lose myself. I don't want to forget who I am.


it's seeping, bit by bit, into my brain, like a virus for which there is no cure; my memories are slowly erased, one by one, and I try to resist, but it is taking control. And it is changing me. Warping my being dreadfully.


I am becoming that which I fight against, that which I hate the most;


its aura surrounds me, permeates me, suffocates me.


and I become


a zombie, just another one of those mindless undead


I am-


a cellist, a creator-


of stories, melodies, and expression


through obscure dissonance, or through luxuriant harmony


and this is my tale.


I am-


a cyclist-


daredevil speedster, desolate wanderer


ride forth from the gates, and glide through the mysterious, familiar night;


black and silver, grey and blue


I am who I am, or I am nothing;


never should be the dull grey-brown and rigid, unbending line upon line;


neither the page after page of worthlessness,


nor the roboticism of the mindless drones, analysing emptily;


all one and the same;


and I


me


watching the miserable mechanicality march down the path


must revel in the oppressed despair of being one.