I didn’t use to be an Outsider. Really. I used to be tight with Them, right in the midst of whatever happened to be happening at the time. Not that I agreed, or even liked, all the things They would do, but I was inside. I was part of Them. It felt good to be part of Them, good to be included. I used to think the worse things in the world would be to be an Outsider. Not any more. The worse thing in the world is being alive.
Being an Outsider, is dangerous. I don’t have Their protect any more. Anybody, or anything, could take me and I’d have no defense. I mean nothing. I have nothing. I’ll never be anything but dead.
I’m dead to them already. I might as well be dead to myself as well. I’ve been thinking about being dead for a long time. It’s strange to think about … just not being. Being outside life. Outside hope and outside help.
I don’t want to be outside anymore. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I just want to sleep. Go away now, I’ve nothing left to say. I’m going to sleep forever.