Bullseye

The name's Leo. I still remember the first bloody time I came here, scratched a hand. It was... what? Midsummer? The Earth was crispy like fried chicken, even with the shadow of these walls... this container. I want to know what they did to me. Nobody tells me-- better said, there is nobody to talk to. I came here with a manual, loss of memory, and the schedule. I know I shouldn't be writing about this. It's probably the worst, stupidest thing I've done to right about now. I could care less.
...
Whoever reads this- get me out of here. Please. It's been about a year now. They control me like if I were some kind of cow, only meant to make milk then be turned into some beefy hamburger.