Tell me a story.

I want to leave my room. It's stuffy, it's hot, and it smells. The stench of rot is strong. My windows are sealed shut, and my door is locked. I can't leave. I peel my skin, layer by layer, trying to free myself from the prison. I tear at every muscle, i pick at every bone. I hope that my killer will strip my bones clean of the meat, and savor every last piece. I am nothingness, and I am everything. I am the end.