September Rain

  59

  -Angel

  I don't know how long I've been in the infirmary and won't ask. I've accepted that I'm a useless good-for-nothing and stopped trying.

  I do whatever they tell me.

  It's hopeless.

  Useless.

  I screw up everything.

  Every. Time.

  So, when they tell me to eat, I eat. Maybe I'll get lucky and choke.

  They tell me to sleep, I sleep. To pass time.

  They want me to piss, I piss.

  I take their zombie medications and hope for an incompetent nurse and an overdose.

  I wish they would tell me to die.