They left years ago. I saw them run away. They left me alone in that dingy, old cell. I've never held it against them. They probably didn't notice me under all the dust and glass. But it still hurt.
I'd heard dozens of stories about them. The way people painted them, they were brave, heroic, and selfless. So when they showed up, I became excited. I tried everything to make them notice me, but to no avail. They had bigger things on their minds than me, a broken creature fallen into the depths of despair.
I'd given up all hope of being rescued until that moment. No one ever saw me, and no one ever cared. Maybe that's why it was so easy for me to be effortlessly picked up and carried off into unknown circumstances. Maybe if I'd just spoken my mind more often instead of clamping my mouth shut I wouldn't be here. I'd be out with the friends I never had, or laughing with my parents who were worried sick when I disappeared, no doubt.
But it's too late now. I'm stuck here forever. I'll die alone, most likely on that wretched, white table, a needle in my neck. My screams are never heard.
I'd entertained the idea of being rescued. My dreams were filled with longing. Four figures always haunted my thoughts, wearing warm smiles and extending their arms to me welcomingly. I always took the offered hands, joy and relief flooding me like a tsunami.
Those four mutants kept me on my feet. They reminded me there is always hope. Even after they left me, I still wait patiently for their return.
They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I now know this to be true, for every day I fall more in love with the idea of the turtle brothers coming for me. I know they will someday. I just know it.