The same buildings were painted across the sky of the never-ending city, faces the same, and sidewalks so familiar. I always felt I was walking on a treadmill that didn’t have the option to start or stop. My dearest friends had the same personalities as everyone here; they looked human, talked human, and acted human, but I felt a deceiving cover whenever I spoke to a person. They watched us at all times, I knew that, everyone did. Wearing the same neck peice, no one knew what it was at first, but after running experiments, I’d believe it was a bomb. No one tried to take it off, perhaps out of fear?

I remember the day that statement became untrue; my very own companion had attempted it. She was a curious girl, always talking about the themes that may be found out there or alternative universes. I thought it was silly and often complied. She believed the way to break the system was to break the very restraint they had on us, our necks. She’d tied the string ever so carefully to that small fragile hole that stuck out of it, it was an unusually comforting sight. Her soft smile accompanied her. Just as she thought, there was indeed a way out of our beloved city. She’d pull the string.

It was strange watching her, my memory plagued by vagueness. I remember the soft glow of light as small trickles of red scattered across my cheeks. Her once-smiling face is gone. No amount of glue was going to stick her back together. I found myself unable to comprehend the situation, I promised myself that if I were going to leave, I’d leave the place where I could truly explore another world, not just escape through my body and soul. For both our sakes.

Once I grew weary and tired of such efforts, I’d find myself attempting the same, filled with apologies and guilt to both my friend and my younger self. For the promise I made. In honor of that beloved sake, I’d written my final letter:

My darling Marie,

I’m sorry for betraying you, hurting you, and breaking our beloved promise of a better life out of this hellhole.

I was too weak for even that, my sanity was one to have left me long ago. The word “help” turned into “punish,” and I, the fool, grew accustomed to it.

I’m sorry you have to see the disgusting result of that and feel it whenever you move. I gave up on us, it’s my fault and never yours.

Please do not plague yourself with me and stay clean, my sweet Marie, ever the innocent soul.

I hope they remember you instead of me. In our eternal solace, I will continue to beg for your forgiveness, and if I reach that, I’ll simply do it again.

I love you, I’m sorry, goodbye,

Marie