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The Dead Boy



I’m dirt.  .  That’s what everyone calls us,     ” . .  You dirt,    come on . .    do it while you’re alive . . .  bitch”.


We are all girls up to two years old.     Six and a half for you.

We have to clean up the shit.   It’s everywhere.  .

And they fuck us and beat us afterwards.   The guards.   They’re evil.  .


( .. no, “rape” means you could have resisted. . We don’t resist. . .  – right away. . .      You have no such word. . .     no “torn apart” – it means just torn into pieces. . .       we have worse. .      You don’t need it.  ).


I’m always being raped. I resist. But they don’t kill – I’m very beautiful. They only hit me hard. The eye was knocked out back then.  .

One-eyed is not fucked. They just beat. For fun.



I didn’t see the stone. They deliberately put it down so that I would fall. I stumbled when I was bringing them a pee pot. I fell and everything spilled. I looked, I looked, but with one eye is hard to see. . .


This time they beat me especially hard.   They broke my arm, ribs.  .  .   they tore the stomach with a hook from the very bottom to the navel,  . . .        female. .

I crawled away when they were done.  .  .      tired of hitting me. .

And also the security guard I’m pregnant baby with called them.  .  .    On purpose. To stop it. He’s not as evil as the overseers.  .


The baby died in my belly.  He is one moon.  .

I crawled away to die in a hole, a drain – where shit and bones are thrown.     You can hide there.    They won’t go there.   They think – it will die there anyway. .

I didn’t die for a long time.   Then I don’t remember.  .    Then I saw them.  .  .     – they decided to pull me out with hooks, so they could mock again.  .     They probably heard that I was alive when I couldn’t remember myself.  .         Or maybe someone said that I was still alive.    Who hears thoughts.  .


I squeezed further into the hole, deeper into the shit.  .   They won’t get it here.


You don’t need to know any more. That is ALL.  .



No one remembers that boy.  .       I haven’t stopped remembering yet, I haven’t completely stopped. . .


And he remembers them. This was his first life.  Out of nine. .



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