I consider death to be a reward.

Death is the only type of freedom I can look forward to. As Andy Warhol once said, being born is like getting kidnapped… and then sold into slavery.

I see life as a neatly packaged bundle of suffering, work, and punishment. Sometimes it comes with a little ribbon on top. But everyone’s life comes with a bit of the first three in varying degrees.

Life is wrapped up in opaque wrapping paper, so when it was handed to me, I thought it was something good. Like a surprise. Plus, it’s not right to refuse presents, now is it?

So I willingly opened up this little bundle – a move I will regret. At first, it looked like something colorful. It looked complicated, like a jungle gym. So I played around in life for a while. But by the time I realized it wasn’t that colorful or complicated at all, the playground had already been closed off. No one my age comes in. No one my age goes out… except for the ones who deserve it or have the courage to escape.

I look at the exit gate everyday. I dream of the day I will sneak out, hoping that none of my friends will notice. But I know that they will, so sneaking out is not an option. I have to wait for the day they let me free, or until my friends are freed so I can sneak out with them. But I know that it will be a while until I have that privilege. I can be patient… maybe.