My creators, the ones who kissed and cared for me since the moment I was born. The one who rocked me and sung me lullabies to sleep. How did I become like this? How could I betray them like this? They watched as the infection spread and noticed nothing, but when I finally told them something shifted. Something drifted. They forced me to show them the deep marks up and down my arms, they drug me to the doctors, they medicated me. Now who am I? Where am I? I feel empty, a hollowed out bullet shell. I have no purpose here. The spark in their little girl has faded.