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I was trapped.
Hunger spreads my entire body like a howling growl. Am I dead? Have I crossed the far shore? It's so quiet so quiet so quiet I can almost hear the blood pumping in and out of my veins in my entire body.
That proves I'm not dead.
My ears perked up at the sounds of drizzling from outside. Outside. A place where I no longer had the privilege to set foot on. A boom from a distance that might be thunder. Is it going to rain? I hope so, t̶ ̶m̶a̶d̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶s̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶e̶x̶i̶s̶t̶e̶n̶c̶e̶
Below me, was a soft material that had once accompanied me in my vulnerable times. It groaned beneath my weight as I curled myself into the soft sheet of the mattress. I can't sleep anymore. I'm so tired every now and then that I just can't sleep. Something is covering my bare body. All big and oversized. I love how wide they are. Hoodies, specifically. All with cotton and warmth
There's something etched into my skin that I wish it never existed.
I pull my knees closer to my chest as another thunder roared again, closer this time. "When will I get out of here? " Is my forever question.
When it played, harmonious tracks of theories, predictions, assumptions all synced as the movie keeps on playing. They yearn for the end, the thrill, the challenges it might crash down the entire scene. And as an unforgivable event happened in the movie, the viewers will be devastated. However, they will think of every possible way it could lead to a better end. And if they don't, they will accept it when the movie ends, but it will never be forgettable as they move on. Causing unsatisfied emotions rise in the bottom of their heart.
And do you know? Sometimes, the theories they made came true, and they were all well prepared for it. It might be surprising at first, but the impact is not greater than not knowing at all.
I wonder, is my movie predictable? Is my movie will lead to a satisfied outcome? Or will it came crashing down to a bitter fate?
B is the answer.
After being trapped in my makeshift cage for so long, there was really no outcome I can make. The characters on stage are but anyone else in the entire world. And even if there was, it will be tainted with nothing but overwhelming darkness that will lead to numbness.
How long have I not spoken? Days? Weeks? Months? I am no familiar with my voice anymore. What do I look like? My appearance? My body? My nails? My hair? Eyes? It's as if the colors were all tainted into darkness, it becomes unrecognizable.
I don't know myself anymore.
On the wooden floor, are all scattered with my clothes, my comforter, my blanket, my dolls, and the open books begging me to pick them up and acknowledge their value after being tossed to the as if dirt.
Speaking of dirt, I may be smelling like one right now. It's been... I don't know, too long since I had a proper shower. I sometimes dreamt about my favorite scent, rose petals, warming me in the depths of the water, its addicting scent soaked my body and dive into my being. My flesh, my bones, my veins until I was a rose itself. I̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶f̶a̶v̶o̶r̶i̶t̶e̶s̶. At least I have too much clothing to bear the smell from my body. You might be wondering why I am trapped. Why I was not allowed outside of my own room. My own house. That was entirely because...
The sound of the door creaked open, I shifted myself from curling like a deformed mushroom to something sitting with my legs folded up. The gap it made between outside, and my room made my eyes reflected with the light from the gap. Heavy footsteps went next, it entered into the side of my door with a pair of Egyptian feet, crooked nails, jeans. My eyes go up, T-shirt I'm not sure what's color is it before I set my eyes at the figure's face before me, oval face that has been wrinkled from old age, sharp nose, jadelike eyes piercing into my figure.
Father
'Is it that time already?' I thought in my head. Afraid to let the words out at the ruthless figure before me. It's been always like this, father, who I seem to still remember his name, Harry Ford Raven. Stood like this at my door, a small lunchbox in his hand.
"Eat." A raspy voice echoed in the room, before tossing me the small lunchbox to the floor. I struggled to catch it effortlessly. Stumbling down to his feet. He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You should be damn grateful you have food every day, bitch. And don't you fucking cry on me. I'll beat you to a plump" She finished with a loud stomp on the wooden floor.
I flinched at his tone and all of his actions. I nod. Slowly. Before he turned around at shut the door close with a 'click' and just like that, I'm inside this dark block again. Father came like this only once a day, meaning: I only ate once a day. And the meals are not like the yummy lasagna or the delicious looking fried rice I've seen in the tv a long time ago. Today, I opened the lunchbox with shaky hands, my mind still reminiscing the words father let out "don't fucking cry on me" I don't. I don't even know how to cry anymore.
I think they're feeding me because they don't want to deal with my corpse and go to the troublesome to report to the police. Today's meal, was a half-eaten shrimp with an expired milk. I didn't bother drinking the milk, I store it beside my cabinet instead.
I ate the shrimp in one go, I was so hungry I could eat my whole arm I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶h̶u̶n̶g̶r̶y̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶e̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶m̶. I ate in silence. I hug my knees close once again. I might be looking so horrendously ugly right now. The rain kept on getting heavier, muffling the constant cars speeding through the roads. I look at the window, which is caged with iron gates.
I look like a prisoner now
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