“The award for the craziest journalist goes to...Monica Taylor!” Isn’t it amazing how life can change that quickly? This is a glimpse of my soul. I have always dreamt of being remembered, to be in the limelight. I have always loved to write stories but I never wanted to be one of those boring writers. That's when I started working at a newspaper company, one which imposed me no limits. A roller coaster brought to life. Buy a ticket, watch the show. No fear. Be immortal. Become the creator.

From a mind, to a heart, to a soul, to a body, I have them all in my hands. The motor, turns on the gear. When I look into their eyes, I can feel the fear running inside their veins, I can read their mind, their thoughts. I put my gloves on, grab their head into my hands and I try to assure them that everything will be fine. The power was made to be mine, it makes me feel like God himself. I can put an end to their misery in a heartbeat and they'll be so grateful, I am their only chance now. I'm transforming them into marionettes... they’re not human beings anymore. That's the moment when it becomes much more real, I'm unforgettable, I'm the one who they’ll think about forever, the one they’ll hate unconditionally. I become immortal. An unforgettable God.

The chains, pull the train to the top. People, they’re all in my hands. Imagine some newsflash. People always read my articles and believe all of it, they will worship me unconditionally. Overthinking brings me in the front line in their minds. I’m a hacker in their own thoughts and the mixed feelings I create take a toll in them. I am a God, a social God. I create, I change. Immortality is a gift craved in, my words, actions are eternal flames burning inside them.

The chain dogs, prevent the train from going back. So, life is just like this. You start from zero and build your own rails. But there’s no going back. Your actions have consequences and create feelings and thoughts that will never go away. I have always wanted to be remembered and yet hard to be forgotten, and nothing’s ever going to be the same as before.

There’s no turning back. Hands liquified into a dark red substance, minds blown away by faith, souls killed by devils. Lifeless bodies lay on the ground, picturing a work of art in my head. The globe of power is sitting in my hands, encouraging me to give everything I have in the things I'm creating. I have transformed into God himself. Fearless. Immortal.

Sometimes I just stare at it for a moment. Then I get chills all over my body and my hands start to shake. I analyze every side and hope that there is a way out just like there was one in. I close my eyes and roll the die once again. Trapped. Imprisoned in an unstable prison, myself.

I once was told that a corpse is just a corpse unless someone who loved them enters the room. Hands start to tease me, to change me, to put me in the mold they have made for me. I get the feeling of suffocation, like my lungs are caving in, but it’s just them making me look better, helping me fit in. I’m still looking for him, for his hazel eyes to bring me back to life. But I guess it’s too late, the hope is gone. I’m nothing more than society’s template now.

Every moment is costing more energy than it should, like someone just turned gravity way up. I open my eyes but there’s nothing in here. My breathing is steady, my mind focused. I roll the die once again. There are voices making me feel anxious. They’re my friends. Glimpses of my life start to show in front of me. Then we start playing a game. But there’s nothing good they say about me. I’m still not perfect for them. I got to think more, harder, deeper.

I make the right turn from my mind to the cut-through between fear and acceptance. Down through the stiff silhouettes a new cell awaits me. I have thought myself awake but it can’t be. I’m going up. I dream of being loved, of being in love. I cherish the moments when I feel like myself. But there’s guilt in them. I’m unstable. My pleasure is in danger, while pain is in stillness. I gain the power to manipulate them, to make them mine, but only for a second.

I’m still rolling the die, telling myself that it’s only a matter of thinking clearly until I find the way out. There’s something I’ve been searching for and I still couldn’t find it. Who was I before? Maybe it’s the key combination to going back to reality. My only salvation.