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I am a golem. A forest golem, made by a type of magic person who has an affinity for plants and things like animals. My creator is a lovely lady by the name of Abby Lakelily. I don't know much about her past, but she really likes oak trees. And she smells like grass. I smell weird. Like rotting wood and flies. Or like when one of the creatures in the forest stops moving for a long time. And the rain comes like it always does. The smell makes me not want to smell it. And I don't like smelling like this. I think her name is really nice. I like writing it. Lakelily. But I don't like writing. She taught me how to read and write. She is very nice, but sometimes she isn't. Sometimes she tries to tell me who I am. But I don't understand her. It makes her upset. And I'm not sure why. I don't like it. But I don't particularly understand emotion. They are very interesting though. Imagine things that only some people can feel. I can feel. But not emotions. It's not like a physical feeling. But like an inside feeling. I don't understand that idea. She tried so hard to teach me how to feel emotions. But I am a golem. Today some people came for her. They were tall and wore metal. They were very upset. And then she got very upset. And then they took her and told me to wait. So I am waiting. I don't think I'll see her again. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I guess I feel nothing. I don't know their names. Maybe I'll ask. I have a name. She named me. But it was an odd name. It didn't roll off the tongue. I have a tongue. It's in my mouth, along with my teeth. Most golems don't have tongues. But I am not like most golems. My flesh isn't stone or wood. It is flesh. I have bone. But I don't have blood. I think I did. But I don't remember. I don't remember anything she tried to make me remember. It was all really confusing. That would frustrate her a lot. When I got confused. She seemed sad. All of the time. And sometimes I wish I could feel bad. I wish I could understand. But I am a golem. I am a barely sentient being who does not actually know it's purpose. She never told me. I think my purpose was to understand. But I couldn't. Maybe that's why she always got so frustrated. Because I couldn't do what I was created to do. I wonder why that is. But I don't dwell on it. I forget what she named me now. It started with a J I think. I don't know. She didn't like using it though. But that's okay. I don't think she liked me. The smaller creatures in this forest seem to like me though. And I like them. They are small. And I wish to protect them. Even the bugs and spiders. I wish to protect them too. I hope those men don't take me. If I'm not in the forest, who will protect the creatures? Maybe they will. I will ask them if they will. Then I would be okay with leaving. I'm not sure where I'll go though. Maybe there is a place for golems that don't understand. Maybe those men take away golems that don't understand. I don't know. I don't know much about what exists outside of the forest. I saw some tiny humans once. I never told my creator because she always got mad when I went off without her. I don't think I was supposed to. The tiny humans ran. I didn't feel the need to stop them. They seemed upset. What is it about me that seems to make everyone so upset? That is also something I will not dwell on. I think my creator called this stream of consciousness. I write like this a lot. Just a lot of words on a lot of pages. She said I could write a book. I don't want to write a book. Writing is not fun. Doing this is not fun. But I felt the need to. Because she asked me to write. I don't know why. But I will write. And I will sit. And I will wait for the men to come back. One of the men had a cough. I think there is something wrong with his lungs. Maybe I will tell him. I have lungs. I know I have lungs. But I don't need to breathe. Why did my creator give me lungs? Am I a Frankenstein's Monster? Did the men come because she made me out of different parts of people? I have no feelings about that idea. But I do like that story. Reading is fun. Writing is not. I don't like writing. But she has many books. She had me read so many. They were fun. But I don't know why. My creator is strange. She makes me do a lot of things I don't understand. I wish I could understand. But I am a golem. Despite my lungs. My teeth. My flesh. My bones. My heart. My hair. I am a golem. I don't understand. Maybe those men will help me understand. Or maybe they will destroy me. I don't know. But I don't think I want to be destroyed. I want to continue existing. Maybe if I can understand, people will stop being so upset around me. So I will understand. Or I will try to. If writing this will help me understand I will write. But I don't want to write.