[]This chapter includes: swearing, mention of death.[]
[]You have been warned.[]
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As I enter the leftmost hall of the first maze, I yawned. I normally slept in the very left bottom corner of what others called "The Map" for the first maze. I know starting off with my routine sounds dumb, but hear me out for a split second on it when I say this is essential to the story. Let's see. I brush my teeth with my toothbrush, I licked the wall, I ate Fraud's leftovers--
Aha!
I went to check on James' oil compartment. Honestly, I had to build him back together. I was like, 9 years old? 10? We were in 5th grade in 1989. I don't know how I did it, but I transformed him from a lifeless sack of meat into a functional man. Anyways, I checked his oil compartment, and caught him just in time. I filled it up. He must've pulled an all-nighter, for like, the 7 thousandth time this week.
Enough about him. Everyone is waking up, which means soon, the randoms start walking in. Most of them may be slightly dense. I stare at them and they just... don't look at me? Silly humans, I move everytime you aren't paying attention! You're just setting yourself up for my thrill of the kill! I don't know why I do this, because I've never met these people a day in my life, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. Of course, we're not monsters, we don't eat our victims. We do provide proper burials, burnt in the camps of maze 2. I just wonder why I don't feel bad. These people had families, just like I did, but for some reason, I can't find a way to care. I also don't understand why this is my routine. I don't care enough to find the answers, though.
Excuse me for rambling. It's all I'm good at doing, honestly. It just passes the time. I'm awesome like that, for some reason.
I wash my hair, but it won't stay still. It never stays still. Neither do my eyes. My eyes are weird. My limbs are also weird. I'm hungry now. I grab a box of food– Kraft's mac and cheese– and I eat it. Why bother to cook it, because this is good food. It's better raw than cooked. I like the crunch the dry pasta feels as the cheese slowly drips from inside the box– I forgot to mention I still pour the cheese in, like everyone does. The others call me weird for this, but I don't think I care enough. I'm too great for that. I finish my shower with a full stomach and a clean body. My hair drips down my face, but so do my eyes, so that doesn't matter, I guess. I'm bored. I ponder why nobody likes me. I don't really care that nobody does, though.
I'm awesome.