I Am Still In Great Pain

~:(1):~

  Nightcore - let me die (Lyrics) [lil happy lil sad]  

       Monotonous actions, monosyllabic replies, unending suffering. Days blend together in a blurry haze when one finds themself incapable of expressing their own emotion, of living their own life. 

       Such is the case for our beloved Rick, altered significantly by his once-adoring grandson. Now he goes about his days answering to his every beck and call with immense obedience, unable to deny the requests. Yes, he may be mostly machine, but he still has his own mind, his own thought process. And, while many may find it nearly impossible to believe, he has his own memories. His memories are both haunting and freeing. Simpler times, when he was his own self, not some mind-controlled slave. He missed his free existence, his family, his daughter. But he was entirely incapable of saying such. He had been programmed to reply only when spoken to; to speak only when addressed. He was programmed to give simple explanations, never too wordy. 

       He could never speak freely. His mind was bogged down with the constant desire to say what he was thinking, to hold a normal conversation. He wanted, more than anything, to be able to voice his own opinion. 'Yes', or 'No', simply could, and would, not satiate his desire to speak. He relished in the feel of his voice vibrating within his vocal chords in those fleeting moments before he was ordered to remain silent yet again, before he was shut up until addressed at another time. 

       He was nothing more than a wasting man, dying though he could never find true death. There was absolutely no comfort in knowing that he could never die unless ordered to do so, or defeated in battle. The latter was more impossible as, with Morty's every command, he was unable to be bested. He was programmed never to lose, never to back down. He would take a heavy beating, emerge broken and bruised, yet would always remain the victor, regardless as to whether or not his opponent died at his hands or backed down from the brutal war. In his mind, he would always scream, begging his opponent to best him, to finally put an end to his bleak days. Yet he would always find himself dragged away by his Morty, neither caring nor curious as to what was really going through his companion's mind. 

       Rick longed to remember what it was like to dream, to close his eyes and slip into another world for the few hours he rested each night. Instead, as he laid his head on his small cot in the dark room, located in the lowest floor of the massive base Morty ran, he found only darkness. It consumed him, swallowed him up as he shut his eyes to rest. 
       At night, he longed for emotional release, to feel the long-forgotten sensation of small droplets running down his face. Crying was all he could think of anymore, crying his heart out at the vast emptiness held within him. If he was offered a few seconds of emotional freedom, he would cry. There would be no laughter, no anger, no hatred, only self-pitying tears. Instead, as he sat in his small room surrounded by all he saw when he closed his eyes, he remained stone-faced, emotionless. 

       In all actuality, Rick longed for the sweet embrace of death. He wanted nothing more than for his existence to come to its final end, to be freed from his prison, held captive within his own mind. He wanted nothing more than to slip away. It was his one desire, the only thing he would ever ask for.

       Kill me. 

       He could never bring the subject up to Morty in discussion. It wasn't that it was a taboo topic, to ask your controller to set you free and kill you. No, he knew he could bring it up at any moment. It was merely the simple fact that he couldn't speak to Morty in the way he wanted. He could sit and ask for 'permission to speak freely', to no avail. His only response would be a haughty laugh before a swift blow, hitting anywhere on his body before Morty stared daggers into him, giving yet another command. 

       He was suffering, and the kid was keeping him alive. Just because he was a tool, a means of winning. He was nothing more than a pawn now, being thrown where he was needed before pulled back to await further order.

       This was surely no true existence. No creature would call this life. There was simply no word for it, no description. It wasn't anything at all.

       Absolutely nothing.