I was having a bad dream, I wish I could say that.
The world was green, the flesh of all rotten, their eyes molded to help themselves, naturally, for once we faced betrayal, we lost how to love truly...
So to achieve the maximum sadistic pleasure, Sir Alan had enforced a fucking rule where I had to crumble and go back to my torturers, and cry to them about stories which would inturn solidify propaganda against me, mother fucking bitch..
As if I hadn't already done that. Weird ass insecure mf, who wants me to speak normally again, no man after a head injury speaks like before ever again, you all fucking told me no way back, listened to you all and now you all cannot agree upon something? WOW. Just fucking connect and diversify, all wars would cease upon doing it, the system is clearing out the problems, and bettering itself.
