Table of Contents [Report This]
DISCLAIMER:- I don't own The Pretender. I'm sure TNT will soon, but then again I was also sure NBC wouldn't have be *STUPID* enough to dump it in the first place.
TRAPPED
by Krystal McDermott
Darkness is all I see. It's every where. It's inside me. The only light I see is the occasional flash of lightning that rushes through the rusted key hole. The howling wind outside causes the padlock to bang against the door. Rain seeps through cracks in the tin roof and the rats run for cover from the wet. While I sit here on the iron cot which is my bed, alone, in the darkness.
I can't sleep. I'm too afraid to sleep. Each time I close my eyes I can feel 'him' in here with me. I can see the anger in his eyes and I feel the sting of his fist as it hits my already bruised and swollen face. I try to fight back, but the cuts from the hand cuffs and the whip lashes across my arms, my legs, my stomach and my back send shots of pain throughout my entire body. I am weak. I hate being weak.
Sometimes when it all gets too much, when I can't take the pain and anger any more, I let the tears take over. I can never let him see me cry though. Never. Any sign of emotion is weakness, and weak people die. I can never let him know I am weak. I can never let any one know I am weak.
When it's quiet, I just sit here for hours, in the dark. I don't think about him, or mom. I don't think about the pain, the torment, the loneliness. I pretend that I am far away from this hell, this shed I am trapped in, far away from the rats and mice, my only companions, and far, far, far away from the darkness. It's just me. I am in my safe place where no one can hurt me, no one can see how weak I am.
It's when I'm here that I can hear her. She talks to me softly, whispering. She talks about love and kindness, things I have never been shown. Things I'll probably never know. She is so wonderful just to listen to, I think she may be an angel. I've never seen her, but her voice is so sweet and soothing. I can't understand why an angel would want to speak to me though. I'm worthless, I'm weak, I. Am. No one.
There's another voice I hear from time to time. A younger voice, the voice of a girl about my age. This voice is different though, she doesn't speak to me, she just thinks and wonders about her life, like I do. She is like me........ sad, lost and alone. The only difference is this girl loves. I have heard her say it. She is in love with her friend, her only friend and he seems to love her too. This girl has been shown love, she knows how to love and I am jealous. I hate that she has seen love and I haven't. I hate her. I hate that she and I are the same, but she has no idea who I am. I hate her. I hate that she loves someone else when I am in love with her. I love her.
How is it that I can love a girl I have never met? It's as though we have this invisible connection. When she is in pain, I feel her pain. When she cries, I cry with her. When she feels lost, I am lost. When she is scared, I am scared. I ache to be able to break free of my prison and hold her until she feels safe again. I want more than anything to tell her she is not alone, that I will protect her from those she fears. I want to tell her how much I love her. I want to tell her much I hate her. I hate that she makes me care. She is the one that makes me weak. She is the reason why my father doesn't love me. She is the reason why I am trapped out here in this cold, dark shed. I hate that she makes me love her, but doesn't love me in return. I hate her.
Outside I hear the back door slam shut and I hear him storming down towards me. I can hear the chain rattle in his large hands and I know that I will be able to think no longer tonight. The wooden door swings violently open as he barges in. The lightning from outside illuminates the scars across my wrists from where I'd tried to slice them open with some wire I had found in the shed. The cold steel of the chain strikes my face as I fight back the tears. I am weak. I hate him. I hate her. I hate them all.
Krystal
Told you it was short. Feedback please little_miss_krystal@hotmail.com
by Krystal McDermott
Darkness is all I see. It's every where. It's inside me. The only light I see is the occasional flash of lightning that rushes through the rusted key hole. The howling wind outside causes the padlock to bang against the door. Rain seeps through cracks in the tin roof and the rats run for cover from the wet. While I sit here on the iron cot which is my bed, alone, in the darkness.
I can't sleep. I'm too afraid to sleep. Each time I close my eyes I can feel 'him' in here with me. I can see the anger in his eyes and I feel the sting of his fist as it hits my already bruised and swollen face. I try to fight back, but the cuts from the hand cuffs and the whip lashes across my arms, my legs, my stomach and my back send shots of pain throughout my entire body. I am weak. I hate being weak.
Sometimes when it all gets too much, when I can't take the pain and anger any more, I let the tears take over. I can never let him see me cry though. Never. Any sign of emotion is weakness, and weak people die. I can never let him know I am weak. I can never let any one know I am weak.
When it's quiet, I just sit here for hours, in the dark. I don't think about him, or mom. I don't think about the pain, the torment, the loneliness. I pretend that I am far away from this hell, this shed I am trapped in, far away from the rats and mice, my only companions, and far, far, far away from the darkness. It's just me. I am in my safe place where no one can hurt me, no one can see how weak I am.
It's when I'm here that I can hear her. She talks to me softly, whispering. She talks about love and kindness, things I have never been shown. Things I'll probably never know. She is so wonderful just to listen to, I think she may be an angel. I've never seen her, but her voice is so sweet and soothing. I can't understand why an angel would want to speak to me though. I'm worthless, I'm weak, I. Am. No one.
There's another voice I hear from time to time. A younger voice, the voice of a girl about my age. This voice is different though, she doesn't speak to me, she just thinks and wonders about her life, like I do. She is like me........ sad, lost and alone. The only difference is this girl loves. I have heard her say it. She is in love with her friend, her only friend and he seems to love her too. This girl has been shown love, she knows how to love and I am jealous. I hate that she has seen love and I haven't. I hate her. I hate that she and I are the same, but she has no idea who I am. I hate her. I hate that she loves someone else when I am in love with her. I love her.
How is it that I can love a girl I have never met? It's as though we have this invisible connection. When she is in pain, I feel her pain. When she cries, I cry with her. When she feels lost, I am lost. When she is scared, I am scared. I ache to be able to break free of my prison and hold her until she feels safe again. I want more than anything to tell her she is not alone, that I will protect her from those she fears. I want to tell her how much I love her. I want to tell her much I hate her. I hate that she makes me care. She is the one that makes me weak. She is the reason why my father doesn't love me. She is the reason why I am trapped out here in this cold, dark shed. I hate that she makes me love her, but doesn't love me in return. I hate her.
Outside I hear the back door slam shut and I hear him storming down towards me. I can hear the chain rattle in his large hands and I know that I will be able to think no longer tonight. The wooden door swings violently open as he barges in. The lightning from outside illuminates the scars across my wrists from where I'd tried to slice them open with some wire I had found in the shed. The cold steel of the chain strikes my face as I fight back the tears. I am weak. I hate him. I hate her. I hate them all.
Krystal
Told you it was short. Feedback please little_miss_krystal@hotmail.com
