-SO, I decided to rewrite a small part of Ib, from my perspective. I AM IB. IB IS MEH. enjooy~-

I have no idea how in the HELL I had gotten here, and I just wanted to get OUT. I was in some weird art gallery and all of these painting were alive, and some serious sh*t went down between me and some creepy THING that tried to follow me around. Thankfully, it tore a hole in a painting I had laid down, and fell into who knows where. *cough* FAT ASS! *cough*

So, I was just minding my business, walking down a hallway merrily, when I see this dead looking dude with purple hair and tattered clothes. Either he went through a lot, or he was just a poser.

"Excuse me, but who in the hell are YOU?" I say, snapping my fingers "in a Z formation".

I got silence as a response.

"EX-CUUUSE ME, SIR, BUT, I JUST ASKED YOU A QUESTION!" I yell, getting as close to his face as I dared, before I went all germophobic.

Again, silence.

"YOU KNOW WHAT? SCREW THIS! I DONT NEED YOU, POSER- DUDE! I'VE GOT MY CREEPY- ASS PAINTINGS TO KEEP ME COMPANY!" I yelled as I ran off.

-Now, as you can clearly see, I would not survive in Ib.-