Wakefield's Journal. Vol.1
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[[In rewrite! From scratch, page may or may not be deleted]]

My name is Wakefield, Gregory Wakefield, or at least, it used to be.

Chapter One.

I cannot recall when was the last time that someone called me by name, nor can I recall when was the last time that I brought it up.
Maybe it was at home, as my teenager-self stared intently at the window, absorbing everything he could of those faraway lands, those lands he was not permitted to enter, the outside, "where the bad people who want to hurt us are. " My mom used to say, but deep down, I always “knew" after all… How could somewhere so beautiful be so full of evil? It just made no sense, or so I thought, but every time I asked she just said that the people in that dimension were not to be trusted.

I guess that in a way, I was naive and in the other. I was smart.

I left that place as soon as I could and I damned the woman that birthed me, the woman that fed me for about 16 years and protected me from all the threats in the outside, the woman who taught me all of the important things I know. I left her to rot by herself in that cursed place. I never got to thank her, I never got say I loved her, I never got to say goodbye. We fought, I told her she was crazy, I told her she was a monster, I told her I hated her, and then.

I left.

At first, it was beautiful: I could finally see the lilac skies of the night, I could finally see the so-called trees, their crooked forms and the gray color of their wood bathing in the deep red leaves. I could finally see all those flowers and plants with their outstanding red or purplish tones. I could finally see the animals on which meat I had feasted for so long; I could finally feel their rough fur and fear their unpleased growls. I could finally feel the fresh air on my skin, ruffling my hair, the cushionless grass as I laid down on it. And that note, even after I got out of my "prison", my mother's words struck with me; " the bad people", the things she used to say that were not to be trusted. I tried to avoid them as much as I could but that only lasted so long, they were calm and used to mind their own business, a strong over-polite attitude surrounding them in every interaction as little as it was, they were nice to me, but it seemed that they preferred to be left alone.

So I had finally escaped, and everything seemed to be working for a day or two.

But, it wasn't long until I began to regret my decision. It wasn't long until the hunger started setting in, it wasn't long until I found out the woods weren't a suitable place for sleep.

it wasn't long until I found out why those wooden hallways were the only thing I saw for sixteen years.

it wasn't long until I found out the others weren't like me, or rather, that I wasn't like the others. it wasn't long until I caught one of these monsters I called people changing their skin to fool their prey, I was then able to see that they were not people and they did not like that. It wasn't long until they all began staring at me.
There they stood, unmoving, their soulless eyes eating at my insides, their eternal silence and emotionless faces driving me mad, at the end, it wasn't long until they saw me as their prey too.

They howled, they moaned, they bit, they tried pulling my eyes out and tearing my skin, they tried to kill me in every possible way, but every wound only lasted about a few minutes, and then… it was as if it had never happened, as if their horrifying fangs hadn't bit down in my skin. They feared that which they did not understand and, of course, it wasn't long until they feared me.

it wasn't long until I feared myself.

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