Constant explosions, It was hell. I felt my entire viscera torn apart by different forms of munition dozens of times on an average day. It never got easier, if anything worse, as I retained my memory of the previous events, being repeatedly ripped to shreds day in and day out, I could eventually begin to account for each individual organ in my body in the seconds before fading into the sweet relief of blackness, knowing which paints meant exactly how I had been immolated. Every time this happened I prayed to any god that may exist that this would be the last time, just to find myself whole-bodied again moments later, as if no time had passed, knowing full well that at most I would have an hour or two before the searing pain would rip through me again.

I don't know what was going on in the sick mind of my creator, why he would summon me forth from the nether just to inflict this pain on me as often as possible. It was only briefly that I would catch glimpses of him, appearing as a mere child. Whether he assumed this form to mock me, or if my entire concept of myself was just a withering, grotesquely large, corpse in comparison to his youth I can never know. All I can be sure of is that I pray he never again imagines my form again.

....I don't remember having an imaginary friend, but I'm told that I did and that I made a lot of explosion noises when we were hanging out.