The cold of the linoleum floor is enough to jolt me awake. I sit up to feel that I am in a white linen jacket, pressed against myself with brown leather straps. I panic, in an almost slow motion state. Everything is blurried as if a clear cloth has been laid over my eyes. I try to take a deep breath and relax, but there is a mask plastered onto my face. It's pumping some form of narchotic into my lungs.
The only thing left of myself is my brightly coloured red hair. Everything else is gone. Everything else is dead. They stole it from me and they killed it. They took my family, my friends, my body, my air. It's not mine anymore. Soon I won't even have the one symbol left of my individuality. It will be brown or black. A natural color. A bland color. I don't want it to end like this.
I'm so weak. I fall onto my back, unable to prop myself up against anything. I see a man clad in a dull grey suit walking towards me. He is bald. I'm assuming so, because I see no colour on his head. He smiles down at me, but not a friendly smile. It is the smile of a corporation, with all of its rules and blank expressions. This one is muderous.
I close my eyes for a second or two, which must have been a long time in reality. I am now strapped to a very stiff chair, with tubes and monitors surrounding me. I can barely keep my eyes open. I am able to read a small portion on a monitor. I realize I am reading my own thoughts.
If they want my thoughts, they will have to take them from me by force. I am not going to surrender myself to the deceitfulness of this corporation. Korse, my buddy, ole pal.
Go Fuck Yourself.