I stand in my cellar, staring at the walls. Sky was right, without my hate for Convict, who am I? So, I conjure a green paint market and start writing what I know on the walls. Instantly, I am made aware of three things.
Two: I write in shitty cursive.
Three: The writing on the walls were not done by me.
Although I assumed that last part, in a mindscape anything can happen. And I continue writing:
Three: My last name was likely Sterling.
Four: My family owned a grocery store company of sorts.
Five: I really liked plants while I was alive.
Wow me. Way to go. "Liking plants" are we being serious? Might as well have said "I breathe oxygen!" Whatever.
Six: My parents were loaded.
Seven: I loved my mother.
Eight: My mother worked out the buisness deals.
Wait my mother worked out the buisness deals? Why do I-
-Hide, a small child, clutching his mothers hand as he enters the office. Hide, sitting quietly watching as his mother negotiated. Hide, taking notes, presenting them to her and being told how proud she was of him. Hide, learning to understand what it meant to have power, he was so young, eight? Nine? The ride back home consisting of the Sterling Logo on so many of the grocery stores, the brand inescapable, almost a requirement-
-Ah. I see. Well, thats fun.
Nine: I traveled along with my Mother for buisness deals and negotiations.
Ten: Sterling was a massive corporation for Mars.
Twelve: If the company had any corruption, they didn't tell me.
I took a step back. Twelve whole things. Wow Hide, you're so good at this whole memory thing. I put the cap back onto the paint marker and throw it at the wall. Who's writing is on the walls? What kind of man was my father? How did I end up like this?
...These questions are wastes of time. I need to be tormenting Convict and getting Freedom out of here.
