After that kid left, I slept some more. I don't recall ever sleeping this much in my life. The days just kind of continue on with me waking up to eat, having no visitors, and sleeping. Then, one day the nurse told me I'd be moving into a different wing, one for survivors like myself. "I don't think of myself as a survivor, I think of myself as a failure," I tell her. She frowns and walks out. Not like I give a shit anyway. I've finally regained my strength and decide the longer I wait, the harder it will be, so I rip out my IV and leave my room in search for a scalpel and a bathroom. I find my scalpel after raiding an office, and locate the nearest bathroom to lock myself into. I almost make it in without being noticed (I've been incredibly lucky it seems considering the cameras placed all over) and as the nurse begins to ask me what I'm doing I lock myself in and start digging the scalpel into my arms and legs making cuts wherever I can find skin. People keep banging on the door and I know I only have limited time until they get in. I dig deeper and deeper in each cut but the blood just isn't coming out fast enough "I won't be stopped, not this time," I shriek and I thrust the scalpel into my stomach. As I lay there, bleeding out, they force the door open. My last thought as I black out is "Fuck they'd better fail this time."
