Michael Larson

United States

Who is the Monster?

March 7, 2018

So, you want to hear my story now, do ya? Well sit down and don't close your eyes, for you might miss what you want to hear this cold and lonely night. It was my youth. Ahhh, they were the times I knew nothing but could do anything. How did those people end up in a ditch, I don't know. Maybe I had something to do with it, maybe I didn't.

They chained and locked me up. Questioned for hours on end. A bright light to the eyes--yeah, and I'm the monster. Sips of water were given to me because I couldn't even move my hands.

They poked and prodded, trying to figure out why. Why?       Why?       Why?       Does there have to be a why? Can't a guy just make people disappear without a reason?

Even while locked up with delusional criminals, I was still targeted. What did I ever do that was so wrong? They didn't suffer.

Someone was able to get to me. He started wailing on me, but I hit back. The guards were willing to look away until I started winning, suddenly I was on the ground being tased and had a muzzle put on me. OBVIOUSLY I am the animal here.

Fed through a tube. Taken out only to relieve myself. Needles were shoved into me "for the safety of those around me." Pills were washed down through the tube they were using. You ask me how I got here? It was a band of savages that viciously captured me. They store me like some sort of rabid animal that is only being taken care of because they had to. I tell them to fuck off.

“That will be enough. Feel free to enjoy your last meal.”

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