I have spent the majority of my life now trying to flee from the babies that tower over all of us. Everywhere I go, there are leftovers from previous "people meals," enormous diapers all over the place that are leftovers from the titanic toddlers, half-crushed bodies, and all other sorts of awful sights. All of our existences are useless; we live only to serve the giant babies. There are trillions of us little people, and at least a million of those big babies.
My first encounter was my little brother. He is one of the giant boys, in fact, today is his third birthday. I don't know where he is right now, because he's always wandering away.
Today is just another one of those days for us littles. Actually, our goal is the same every single day: survival. It seems to be getting tougher and tougher these days, especially since I am getting older and realizing how fucked up this whole world is. My parents died at the hands of my little brother when he was only a year old. They were attempting to change his diaper, and after they had untaped both sides, the front of it flopped forward and crushed both of them instantly. It's hard to think about, so I usually try my best not to.
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