Dear Reader,

Dear Reader,
If you find this, then I'll be really grateful if you read it. If you find it, you should know that you were chosen. You should know that you were sent from heaven to me, because for me, reading this would be the most helpful thing anyone can do.
I didn't know my life would change like this, reader. I didn't know things could get this bad, but it's okay. I'm still grateful, at least I have something to write with and someone to write for. Writing can really be helpful. If you're mad about something, reader, I think you should write about it, it helps.
I hope I don't make you cry, reader, because if you're reading this right now, you're special to me, and I don't like to make people cry. Especially if I care about them.
I'm sorry for what you're about to read. I'm sorry to write it.
Here's my story.
(Author's Note: The story's rated yellow because it has too much aggression in it.)


8. Chapter Eight

20th - June - 2013


Dear Reader, 

"You, filth." Was the first thing the Peace Takers said as they entered my cell. "You managed to survive twenty days here, now you're going somewhere else." I was surprised they counted the days. I was too exhausted to move, but I managed to get the toilet paper and the rusty thing I'm writing with with me, without them even noticing. "You'll get to see how merciful we are." They smirked at me. "You'll be sharing your cell now. Your name will still be filth. It suits you." They laughed, dragging me out of my cell. I walked with them, sick and tired allowing myself to be fully dragged. 

I was trying to know where they'd get me. Where am I going? Who am I sharing my cell with? With some of the others here?

I remembered the girl I saw three days a go. 

The way was familiar. This leads to the room they burned my hair in, which also means-

"She'll be your company. Anything filthy, filth, and you'll be dead. Anything at all you two do, will kill you both." They opened her cell's door and threw me in. She looked shocked to see me here. She wasn't happy at all. 

"What's he doing here in my cell?" She asked angrily. 

"Deal with him." The Peace Taker smirked at her and left. 

"You can't be serious!" She shouted. "SOMEDAY I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" I was surprised by how loud her voice was. How could she shout at them like that? Wasn't she scared at all? She started cursing to herself then.  

I was silent for a while, I just sat there looking at her. She had her back to me, she was facing the cell bars. Eventually, she sat down and looked at me angrily. 

"I have rules here," She said. "The bed's mine, the floor's mine, and if you ever come near my drawings I'll chop your leg and feed it to the cats. Of course there aren't many cats here, but there are rats, so I'll feed it to them." I decided not to take her anger personally. She hated them, not me, she doesn't know me. 

"Actually I don't mind the rats, I decided to befriend with them since they're the only living souls I know here." 

"Aside from the Peace Takers."

"Do you call these living souls? They're heartless so they're not really living souls for me." She nodded, her anger fading slowly. 

"You smell." She said. I could tell she wasn't that friendly. Yes, I do smell, but then again, everything does in this place so I stopped caring. I never thought I'd meet a girl today. "What do you call yourself?" I haven't said my name in a long time. I have almost started to forget it. 

"Owen." I said. "You?" 

"Why do you want to know?" 

"Why did you want to know my name?"

"To know what to carve on your grave of course." I thought she was kidding, but her expression was serious. "How long do you think you're actually going to survive this?" 

"I've managed to survive living here for twenty days, in a cell much worse than this one, so I think I'll manage to live quite longer." She let out a sarcastic laugh. 

"I've been living here for almost a year now." She said. "I know everything about this place that it's almost became home for me. Although, of course, it's not. You can't call hell home, not unless you're Satan at least." 

"And you're not?" I meant that as a joke, but it didn't sound so. 

"I might be, actually." She was silent for a while. "I'm Faith." 

I smiled. Finally, she was starting to get normal. 

"Nice name." She raised her eyebrow. 

"What do they call you?" She pointed with her head at the door of the cell, I could tell she meant the Peace Takers. I laughed. 

"Filth." She laughed too. 

"Suits you."

"Well, thanks." I replied. "Do you have a Peace Takers' nickname?" She nodded, smiling. 

"The Rebel." 

"Totally suits you. They're actually good at naming." I said sarcastically. 

"At least they're good at something. Good at torturing." She looked away, her smile fading. I thought of the way they tortured her. They could've done anything to her. Her being a girl, would've made her even more vulnerable for sick men like them. 

"What - what did they do to you?" I asked. She looked at me then very fast, and I was surprised by how fast I could get her mad. 

"That's none of your business. They should've called you Nosy instead of Filth. Or actually.. they both suit you, so they should've called you Nosy Filth, that would've made sense. Look, you're sharing this cell with me, that doesn't mean we're friends or anything. It means we live in the same hell, that's all." She paused. "You take the floor, I'm gonna sleep." 

She's such a strange girl, reader. I want to know her better, though. I feel like somehow I need to know her. I'm not sure why. She said it herself, we live in the same hell. Might as well turn hell into a friendlier place. 

I couldn't risk showing her my writing, reader. She doesn't know about the things I write to you. Not yet at least. I hope that makes you feel special, reader, because you are. After she slept, I started writing. I couldn't help not looking at her as she slept, though. She was, in a way pretty, sleeping. She looked more peaceful and less angry. She looked even younger and more innocent. As I stared at her, I knew that behind this scarred, dirty face and torn, filthy clothes, was a lovely, strong girl. And I admired that thought. 

That thought though, made me rethink about the way I must look now. balled, with burnt head. Scarred stomach, ugly face covered with blood from my head (or basically from any other part since I've been bleeding everywhere) I'm also very smelly. I smell of blood and sweat and rot.

But somehow, putting me in this cell made me rethink about the Peace Takers, they might be a bit more peaceful than they seem. Either that, or that's what they want me to be thinking. 

Stay with me, reader. Won't you? Maybe things won't be as terrifying as they were.

Just maybe.

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