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.)

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5. Chapter Five

12th - June - 2013

 

Dear Reader, 

Sometimes I think I'm in hell. I just sit here and think, am I dead? Is that what hell feels like? 

The Peace Takers bust my cell's door open abruptly. I was so scared that I started shaking. They made fun of me, of course. They called me with all sorts of swearing and bad things. Words that I never even knew of, but these aren't the kind of words I'll write you, it's not something I'll ever say, not something I want anyone else to hear. So what they say might seem a bit peaceful for them, but that's only because I left the swearing out of what they said; 

"What a coward!" They laughed. "Scared of doors little baby? Wanna go call mommy?" They started laughing at that, they laughed so hard. It wasn't even funny, I don't know why they laugh at such things. I don't know why they do this to me, to us. I don't know how they can sleep at night. "Come, you piece of shit. I think you need a haircut." 

This time they dragged me by my hair, and only my hair. I don't have a long hair, I mean, not very long, but it's been a while since I last got a haircut and my hair was a bit long for boys. Dragging me by my hair wasn't that bad actually. I mean, sure it was painful, but it wasn't the hardest part. 

The haircut was. 

They made me lay on a metal bed and then they secured my legs and hands to the metallic bed so that I won't be able to move them. I didn't shout at them, shouting wasn't something I usually do now. Things can get really bad and only when they do I do get to shout uncontrollably. something like a robot's fist grabbed a lock of my hair and after it closed slowly, it started pulling it away, not even fast so that I'd get over with it, no, it was quite painful and slow. I shouted then, loudly. The "fist" started doing this again and again. All I could hear at first was the sound of the Peace Takers as they laughed and laughed. "You look better when you're half bald." Continuous laughter. But their laughter soon faded, all I could hear then was the sound of the blood running in my ears. "Red suits you, shithead." I barely heard one of them saying. My face must be red by now. I wanted to beg them to stop, but I couldn't. I couldn't bed them, no. If I was to die in this place, I don't want to die begging. 

After what seemed like forever they punched me in my stomach and all over my body, when they got bored of me, they threw me back in my cell, literally. My head bumped the ground and not for the first time in this week, and the cell was filled with blood again. 

When I first entered this cell I didn't notice everything about it. Now I noticed some little things. Someone must've been here before. There were some small black blots on the walls, I now realized they must be blood, because the blood I lost two days ago when the Peace Takers were bored and wanted to hurt me to have fun was turning almost the same black color that's on the wall. Also, I found some scratches on the wall, tiny though. Whoever have been in here must've been trying to count the days. 

IIIII IIIII IIIII II 

Seventeen days. I wonder what happened to that person after seventeen days. Did he or she die? They they manage to run away somehow? Did the Peace Takers let them out? 

I have been thinking about death more often, I've never really thought about death that much. Sometimes, I even feel like it would be better than all the beating and suffering. 

I touched my bleeding head, it was all bald. Not a single hair there. My torn clothes weren't much of use now, but sometimes I needed them at night. Today I need them for my bleeding head or I'd probably bleed to death. 

I took my shirt off and wrapped it around my head. I was shaking once more, not sure why, though. I wrapped my arms around my legs and just kept moving my head back and forth, then I fell asleep somehow, but only for a while. 

When I woke up I decided to write. 

Writing helps, somehow. 

 

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