Waiting
Sitting here. All is quiet.
Too quiet.
"…"
I survey my surroundings through a mask of indifference. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. White clock. The clock I have been watching for a long, long time now, waiting for something. What am I waiting for?
Freedom.
Yes. Freedom – to be rid of this wretched place of interrogation, prodding me for my deepest secrets and intentions –
I'll never tell.
Yes. They'll never know. I'll never tell them. They will pay for their pitiful attempts.
Everyone will suffer.
Yes. They will. But I can't help but contemplate something…
"You don't want to hurt anyone, do you?"
"But I do, and I'm sorry," I say sincerely. "But it WON'T STOP."
Yes. It will never stop. I know it's wrong, I know I am a bad girl. That's why daddy makes me stay in this place…this place of cold isolation. It's like a face of apathy staring at you through these walls, eyes emotionless. An aura of hostility engulfs everything. There is no way of escape. The coldness chokes all hope from you; all sense of righteousness.
"Well, that's why you're here," his hideous voice rings out. "So we can help make it stop."
I told him that it would never stop.
Never
"He's going to leave me here," I realize slowly.
Yes. Daddy will leave me here; mommy wasn't supposed to have me, he says. I'm a burden, he says.
DIE
PAIN
SUFFER
AGONYYes. I'll be here forever. Until daddy gets rid of me…
ANGUISH
TORTURE
MISERY
KILL!
For good.