It seemed as if the light would never come. The pain rang in my ears with every beat of my heart. The torturous brutalities that plagued our home would never cease. The others were huddled around me, trying desperately to meld into the walls, to become invisible, but the darkness laughed at us. It beat away at our hope and stripped away our sanity. I’m not sure if I would prefer the light, seeing those before me who are undoubtedly beaten, bloody and rotting in their skin. We were naked, waiting to be taken by those who ached for perversion.
Our home was a small, rusted room with a disgusting dirt floor that ate away at our skin. The room held no furniture. It was completely bare except for the bucket in the corner that forced us into shame as our bodies demanded the purging of waste and fluids. At least they gave us that. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. The walls were devoid of windows, which only served to isolate us further. The light that streamed through the doorway was very little, but after a while, your eyes adapted.
People littered every corner and wall, and some of them were undoubtedly dead. Lucky bastards. We used to fight each other for the comfortably hidden corners, but then we realized … no place was safe. They always walked into the room knowing full well who they would take. You couldn’t hide from them, nor could you hide from yourself.