'Nothing comes back from the dump.'
My Grandfather's voice whispered in my head, as I jerked awake, coughing, struggling to breathe.
I couldn't see, my back ached like I'd pulled it apart, and then taken a stake to sew it back together again.
'Nothing comes back from the dump.'
I struggled in the darkness, fighting for movement. Pushing cold metal like things out of my way. I was soon rewarded, a strand of sunlight filtered through to my left. Desperate to free myself, I clawed my way towards that light. Freedom. Come on. I could do it. Freedom.
'Nothing comes back from the dump.'
I pulled myself free, sprawling on top of a heap of wires and other assorted framework pieces, gasping in as fresh of air as I could. The place smelt of rotting meat and burnt leather.
'Nothing comes back from the dump.'
They were wrong. My grandfather would be wrong. I wouldn't die here. Not like this. Not after being subjected to the torture I had gone through.
I pushed myself up onto hands and knees, blinking the black spots from my vision.
I would survive the dump. The doctors may have considered my a lost cause in their quest for a more perfect being, but I would prove them wrong.
-Inspiration from movie Inside Out where it was said "Nothing comes back from the dump."
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