Liam felt like he was in the backseat of his own body.
As though his primal desire, soul and intellect had been fragmented into thousands of little pieces.
A broken piece of glass.
He could sense it within himself.
He knew he was going mad.
Parts of his brain weren't clicking together anymore.
He didn't know what his purpose was anymore.
And life without purpose was meaningless.
But the only way he could affirm that he was still alive was through feeling pain.
But over time, even pain felt fake.
It felt unreal.
Thus, Liam had to move to extreme mutilation just to feel a semblance of existence.
There was no other feeling!
There was no food, temperature, sounds or smells of any kind!
Liam ripped off his top right hand.
"It's okay," Liam said to the hand. "You'll grow back. It's no big deal. Stop crying."
Using the stump of his bleeding hand, Liam walked through the line where the wet blood met the whiteness.
It wasn't dried.
After all, there was no temperature!
