Scared is an understatement. I am terrified, yet I remain
strangely calm. I do not struggle; I do not try to yell. My hands are tied and
my mouth gagged, so it’s not like doing so would do any good. Sweat runs down
the side of my face, and tears threaten to spill from my fearful eyes. I can
feel the poison tearing at my insides, destroying me from the inside-out.
I’ve heard that, at the moment of a person’s death, their
life flashes before their eyes. Such is not the case for me. I prefer to leave
my past in the past; I’ve been through a lot, although the past few years have
been particularly gruesome… I must stop this. I must not think about my past.
What matters is the now, albeit that isn’t the best thing to think about
either.
I am tied to a chair in a dark room. I don’t know where I
am, but I am in a secluded area. There is a small window to my left, but the
curtains are always drawn. To my right is a water closet, which I am not
allowed to use. If I need to use the restroom, I must go where I am. The only
time I am allowed out of my chair is when my foster dad forces me to work. It’s different work every day, whatever is
needed to be done. Most of the time it’s simple chores - doing the dishes,
taking out the trash, taking care of the indoor garden - but the pain makes it
unbearable. Every day, twice a day, dawn and dusk, I am force-fed poison. I do
not know what kind of acid it is, but whatever it is does a lot of damage. At
first, it felt like my hands were burning, then they went numb. After that, I started
bleeding out of my rectum, followed by small chunks of organs. The pain is
insufferable. At the moment, I feel like I want to die.
I tried killing myself once, when I was younger. I
deliberated for days the best way to do it. I could shoot myself, hang myself,
or poison myself �" now I’m glad I never chose that option. I finally decided
that I would slit my throat. I took the knife that I used so often to cut
myself with. I had my note ready. I had everything set up just the way I wanted
it. But at the last second, just as the knife was getting ready to tear at my
throat, I fainted. I don’t know why I fainted, and, at the moment, I don’t
remember when I came to. All I remember is music.
My thoughts are interrupted by a growl in my stomach. I am
so hungry. I am given very little food, and it’s starting to show. My ribs are
clearly visible, making my pelvis noticeable. I am only given enough water to
survive, not that I want to. At this point, I don’t care if I live or not. I’d
rather go to hell than suffer through another minute of this.
Somewhere in the building, I hear a door burst open, the
front door. I am filled with more fear than before. I hope - beyond all hope -
that someone has come to rescue me, the police perhaps. My hope is soon
extinguished as I see my foster dad come up the stairs, obviously drunk. My
eyes fill with tears of fear, but I do not cry.
I am lightheaded and very weak from lack of water and food;
the poison takes an even bigger toll.
I gasp in a mixture
of shock and fear as I see what he is holding. A gun. This is the end. It must
be. He is going to shoot me and end my life. He stumbles over to me and points
the gun at my head. This isn’t how I want to die. This isn’t how it’s supposed
to be. I shake my head and close my eyes as tight as I can.
A shot fires. I feel no pain. My eyes open. Someone is lying
on the ground. I hear a scream. I realize the scream came from me. I see my
foster dad dead on the floor. I want to take my eyes off of him, but I can’t.
Using all of my strength, I throw my body sideways, tossing the chair over; I
am now looking right in his eyes. Why can’t I remember his name?
My strength gone, my eyes begin to close. I force them open
once again. Every time I close them, I’m not sure if I’ll wake once again. But
I’m so tired, I just want to sleep. No. I can’t do this. I force myself to grab
the Swiss-army knife out of his back pocket and start to cut at the ropes that
hold me to my chair. It takes me a while since my hands have gone numb. Once I
am free, I stand up. My knees buckle under me, and I fall to the ground again.
I am unable to walk or even stand, so I pull myself to the bathroom. After a
good vomiting, I lie down on the bathroom floor. The cool tile feels good
against my hot face. My eyes begin to close again, but, yet again, I force them
back open. Stay strong, I remind myself. Part of me just wants to give up and
die, and so I close my eyes, allowing the darkness to overtake me.
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