The dreams of a Madman build worlds for the sane, but the worlds of the sane have no place for a Madman. The old man's words echoed in my head. His offer was an impossible choice- one he knew I couldn't refuse.
He slid the yellowed contract across the marble table towards me, and offered a pen that sparkled with starlight.
"Choose," was the last order he gave me.
I could create worlds. Worlds that would never accept me. But I pictured my world, my robotic grey life.
The man smiled, and I smiled with him.