I asked them where I was. Who they were.
They told me they were the Foundation. That where I was didn't matter.
Shards. Shards inside my skin, shards inside my head. Everything was broken, breaking. They were breaking me apart.
They said they were trying to understand me.
But I didn't understand them.
Should I have known? What should I have been thinking? What thoughts did they want me to think, to stop them from turning me to shreds of myself.
I asked them where their humanity went.
They told me humanity doesn't hear about this.
I tried to think, I tried to bring something to the surface they'd listen to, something to stop the knives.
I told them my name is Juliet.
They told me my name is H497.
But that's not a name, is it? Did I dream of having a name? I couldn't remember how long I've been here, or who I was before. I saw flashes of colour when I close my eyes, but when I open them I saw the grey walls and static.
I told them I want to go home.
They told me I don't have a home.
But I remembered a home. I was warm then. I forgot what that warmth feels like, but I longed for it. That's something I did remember. They refused it, refused the one memory I knew wasn't a dream.
They told me I was diseased, that I was missing the thoughts in my brain. They have to inspect me.
I told them they took parts of my skin, asked them if they're the disease.

They didn't like that.
I didn't like them
so I think we're even.

But they're right. I don't remember what my hands used to look like, and I don't remember this static. I don't mind it though, it helps. They had cut into me, trying to remove the parts that are still there. The static clings to me anyways, insulating me from the pain. I don't feel what's missing anymore. At first, I felt the knives, now I don't. I still don't like them, but they come anyways. I woke up, once, being prodded in a dim room.
They said that they wanted to remove the static, so they removed parts of me.
I said that I don't mind, the static took the place of what went missing.
Sparkling like fireworks of black and white. It kept me safe from the pain. Kept me numb.
I used to tell them I was human, that I deserved to be treated like one.
They would tell me I'm barely alive, that I'm not worth the effort.
It gets dim, the lights. The light is reaching me less and less now. But I don't mind, the static keeps me safe.
I wanted to lay my head down, for now. For a while. To try to think of words to say that would make them release me.
Now, I can lay my head down anyways. There's no point to the thoughts, the static takes their place, warms my brain. I feel its warmth, is this what… what home felt like?
I asked the static if it was my home.
That warmth, the tingling was its answer.
The numbness that felt so welcoming.
I can hear voices, they feel so far away. Were they getting their knives? It didn't matter, really I didn't care.
They call me a failure.
A new voice among them calls me a victim.
I can't see them. The static hides the world from me. It protects me, and I don't mind.
Their voices get louder, fighting each other. then they fall, hushed and fading to static.
The tingling begins to go away. The warmth, gets hotter.
I try to open my mouth, to speak, to breathe, but my throat is filled with static. I don't mind, it's keeping me safe.

I feel like I'm floating away.

Far, far away.

Is the static taking me home?

I want to go home.