I am being held, against my will, by 6 giant creatures in black cloaks. There's no way to get out. I shake, I fight, I gnash with teeth, I scream, and I struggle. They lead me down a dark hallway, to a room with a flickering lamp on top of a small desk. The lamp is of the portable kind, and it seems like it's about to shut off leaving me in the abyss; a total darkness that will engulf me, and in this abyss, there is the chance I may lose my soul, my self, my identity, for good. But there are two blank sheets of paper on the desk.

One black, and one white.

There is a pen in between these papers. Who knew a chair could be a luxury? This is my last hurrah, the moment to define my entire existence from here on out; it will be total blackness soon, that's all there is after the lamp gives out; the unknown, the uncertainty; there are no guarantees I may ever leave, no promises of the creatures coming back for me;

No more light.

The ink of the pen is black. Does it even matter which paper I choose? In the end, it does, because this is my life, and I have a choice, even if it's between two things.

The pen itself, much like the light, is in it's death throes. But I choose to write anyway. 3 words that will define the dark times ahead.

I write:

I needed this.