Waindale
It is so black that my brain cannot comprehend what it is looking at.
I think about my family and what they're doing. I wonder if they're panicking over my disappearance or if they even know that I'm gone at all. This place defies all logic, and when considering time, I've concluded that it doesn't exist here. Nothing really exists here. This place—this darkness is nothing. It reminds me of the blankness of my coma. The only thing that would reflect progression is the size of my belly, but it doesn't grow. Yet, I still feel life inside, and that keeps me going.
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