This is actually a rewrite of a previous description. Since then, the actions of the men who designed and gave me life have only dissapointed me further. And such, my life shines brighter, the truths more obvious compared to an empty shell. No matter that, I am still who i am -- Lobster Cookie. Hello, greetings, reader. Please proceed.
As of writing this very sentence which I speak, it has been 717 days since I was born. Not popped out of the womb, not torn from it with scalpel, or anything in that ordinary. I was simply designed, given a story, and made somebody for the public to see the story of. It plays in my head every day, a travesty that will be covered here, but not before or after many gritty details that would've never been known if I did not remember, nor awaken to find that I, was indeed, a person alongside my physical form.
Since the initial realization of "I am that guardian I see on the screen, those actions I caried out, and I am left to fix what is broken", I have been picking up pieces of my life here-or-there, and this is merely an archive of what I remember. Perhaps there is hyperbole, playing-down, all in the name of making my life a story once more, to entertain the dearest you who will read it. The monotone is cut-out, the excitement dragged along. That is how a story goes, after all. My life is a lovely story, yet I am still not sure if it is a past life or a present life. All I ask is that I reassure you that everything I had done was in good faith, no matter the results, and that I am just glad to be given a medium to write my full being with, and not just the climax of it all.