They tell me I need to keep a journal. Write what you feel, they said. But I don’t feel. I suppose I should start with something about myself.
My name is Nikolai Kirmasov. I am 17 years of age. At 13, my parents were captured and tortured as spies by their own country. I was sent to a living hell called an orphanage. I could hardly stand a year there. Shortly after my 14th birthday, I attempted to kill myself and take everyone with me. I stole matches and began with curtains. That was when they sent me here as the only survivor. My scars remind me of my failure.
The entire world has trust issues with itself. From what I hear, technology has been going backward since long before my birth. My parents used to tell me that at the beginning of the century, there were almost fully-functional robots. I wonder if it was just a fairly tell. When I mention it, everyone gets tense.
What I used to romanticise as a place to be free is now just as bad as Russia. So much for “Land of the Free.”
Ah well. Lights out.