Them

             I wake up in my room missing before me. It is dark, yes, but there is no light enough to even see the silhouette of the furniture. Fumbling with the light switch of the lamp, I feel my eyes run blind and some liquid oozing through my fingers. Blood. I am so sure that I have another cut. But the dark is deceiving and oh, did it deceive me. My hand doesn’t contain a cut in it but a very deep gash, a wound that can only be created by the means of a blade or a knife. Well, I am clumsy and maybe that is the product of the pain I felt last night. After observing the deep gash for minutes and giving my eyes some time to adjust to the dim brightness, the gigantic clock in front of me shouted what time it is. 9:00 am. Late! Oh how late am I! I groan and put myself in an upright position. Whining again, I touch the doorknob. It is at this time that I have remembered everything.

                I am not at home. Well, where am I? Oh, right, at my new house. A house not a home.

                The door opens before I have the guts to do so. “Jane?” a voice gushes. I stare at her. She has a long figure and is the perfect description of a human Barbie. Friendly outside but a monster deep inside. How can I say so? Well, on my first day, no smiles were given, no welcoming parties or whatsoever. All I know is that she just rolled me up here to my room with my eyes blindfolded. All I can hear are the sounds, the horrifying moans of persons in pain, the angry grunts and devilish laughs everywhere.

                I just stare back at her. No emotion can be seen in my eyes and even in my body language. She stares back, yes, but she wears a furious expression. “Why haven’t you eaten your breakfast yet?” she jerks her head to the tray beside my makeshift bed. The tray must be colored silver and must be made of metal for the rust are now its designs. The food, you ask? The food is a huge clump of brown and black. Beside that glob of food, you can see a glass that contains a green and yellowish liquid. “What are they,” I ask. “Can’t you see them? Those are pancakes and pineapple juice,” she states. Pancakes? Pineapple juice? Are they even supposed to look like that? The smell? Not so appetizing and it makes me want to lose all the remaining contents in my stomach which is really the food yesterday that looks like the food present in front of me. She laughs and sings out in an annoying melody, “You cannot go outside if you haven’t finished your meal.” After that, she waves the key of my room in front of my face, and after hearing the satisfying click of the door, storms off my hearing range.

                I settle on the bed. Who is she that she can treat me like that? Am I some sort of pet? Some sort of a science experiment? Can I really let her get to me? Just because of me not eating the food because it seems like poison, I will not go outside? Am I going down without a fight? Who am I? I am Minerva Moriah. I have a brother, a sister, a loving mother and a fierce father. You cannot lock me in a room for the rest of my life. You cannot let me eat food and drinks that are a mixture of brown, black, green and yellow. You cannot slaughter my family and presume that I will not know who did it. She says that I can go outside if I will finish my meal and yes, I will go outside no matter how hard it will take, how much time it will consume.  I will go outside.

                After grabbing hold of the outer covering of my bed, I snag the tray and dump all of its contents onto the blanket. To hide the evidence that I haven’t eaten the clump of food I hide it under the bed. Those actions have left me unprotected in the cold each night and a smelly environment every day and I do not care. All I want is to go outside. And meet outside, I will.

Someone enters my room. “Fancy seeing you here,” a voice that is an alien to me is heard before my ears. He wears a purple shirt and baggy pants but that is not the most interesting feature of him. His burned arms and hands are. The burns are splotches of yellow and black and it seems that is the product of taking a bath in boiling water. “Oh, how rude of me! I am Steven and you are?” I just stare at those burns and didn’t reply. Those arms move and I see him glimpse outside of my door, “Minerva, Minerva Moriah.” At the sound of my name, I automatically look at his face.