Can I tell you a story? It's not a very pleasant or particularly nice story, but it's the truth, and therefore must be told. A story that must always be spoken out and passed on.
This is my truth.
Once upon a time there was a little princess. Now don't get me wrong, this is in no way a princess story, it just has a princess in it.
This particular princess woke up one early morning, finding herself lying on the same small bed in the very same room that she found herself waking up in every morning. She had barely slept that night, and was extremely exhausted. But no matter how tired she was, she wasn't able to fall back to sleep. It wasn't that she couldn't, because as soon as she closed her eyes she would doze off, but there was something preventing her from falling back to sleep.
The room she found herself in was quite large. There was a window on the wall beside her bed, and a desk in the far corner. A chest sat at the foot of her bed, which was where she kept most of her games. There was a wardrobe and a TV, and just about everything you can think of to keep a young girl happy as she sat in that room alone. Most people would say she was certainly a lucky girl.
But if you took a closer look at that room, you would see a looming darkness hanging over all that resided in it. Cobwebs lined everything, and insects had overrun the place. There were large creatures like rats with red eyes that scurried around the edges of the room, waiting for a chance to devour the girl. All the furniture and toys were lined with inches of dust and filth, and the bed was stained with blood. Only when you bothered to look past the mask of the room did you see it's truth entirely, but no one save the girl had managed to do that.
That was her truth.
The little princess had not been out of that room for a very long time. She had spent every morning she can recall waking up the that exact bed. She hadn't seen anyone in just as long. In fact, she was in there for such a long time that she even forgot what it was like to be free.
When she went about her day, she could hear voices coming from the walls. There were people merrily chatting away, being jolly and enjoying their lives outside. Everyday these people would meet just outside her walls as if to taunt her. They were there when she woke and there when she slept. She was forever haunted by them.
Oh, how the little princess longed to join them! To run free of her prison and join in the laughter and dance. To be free of the room and just live! But it was not to be so.
There was one door in that room, only one. No one got in, no one got out, save for one. There was a creature, black as the night and painted as a silhouette. He had the key to that room, for the door could only be opened with the right one. He was the one who put that princess in that room so many years ago, and he was the one to keep her there. He would come in to that room, and using the knife he carried with him, he would cut the girl.
The princess is like the room. At first look, you see only innocents and sweet beauty. Only those who bother to look deeper would see the many scares lining her body from when the monster had visited, the knife wounds that laced her body and became apart of her existance.
She lived in fear of the monster. She could not escape.
Today, once again, when this little princess woke up, she heard the sound of footsteps outside her room. Thudding footsteps like heavy boots and chains. An inky blackness spilt through the crack between the door and the foor, and the key lock jiggled.
The monster was coming.
In a blind panic and frenzy, the princess jumped out of bed and began banging on the walls. She screamed at the top of her lungs, yelling for someone to come help her. The people outside, still merrily chatting away, heard her. They always did. And although it was in their power to save the little girl, for they too held keys of their own, they did not. They began talking louder, drowning out the princess's cries with their own shallow conversations. They pretended not to hear the girls screams, for it would interrupt their happy existences, and people are more concerned with their own plastic happiness than the screams of a princess.