- ❶ -
I just watched my own flesh and blood be dragged across marble tiles, her scream did not just continue to annoy me. An abrupt end to a female version of myself; the female body is now behind a door. This gateway sealed shut by some shadows hiding like cowards, too afraid to show themselves to the justice in this city. Without them revealing their faces, they can continue to be hidden from all the cameras in the big city. Not one of them will be captured, not one of them will spend time in a room with four walls, one ceiling to look over them. They will continue to escape the crime busting cops that roam in the night. Daytime too, they can break down a few doors- take out a few criminals, leaving no trace for their fellow comrades to turn up uninvited.
You know the worst part of being a captive? Having to sit there against the same wooden chair you’ve seen many be pulled away from. It’s so violent, it makes me sick to my stomach that these innocent civilians, innocent lives are being ripped apart. My own flesh and blood no longer with me, I even watched them take away my dignity. It was like watching a crying child beg for his mother- believe me, I watched that too. I’ve experienced it all, innocence being crushed within the blink of an eyelid. Not one of them comes out looking the same, they all have different figures.
There’s always one change that I can’t help but notice; every shady figure that exits that room has different handprints on their shoulders. I’m not saying that these innocent people are being abused, they are being attacked, possibly even murdered within a five-minute timespan. The screams are enough to remind you of why you should never have gone with them in the first place. It’s a slaughter house for the innocent, and a paradise for those who look at the world differently. I’ve watched my own body be tortured, it’s like having the front seat to the best movie in town.
Back to the handprints, all of them dripping down the jackets they wear. Some of these handprints remove evidence, they bleed over the old handprints of those that remain unknown. I have no idea if those handprints will ever be seen again, and I fear that the people who leave them there is their last attempt to fight for their lives. I can’t comment on their safety, it’s unknown to any of us on what really goes on behind that door. I just know that this place runs 24/7, it’s deliveries that come early in the morning up until dawn. During midnight, some of them innocent opposite genders are taken away from the waiting room. One woman was left in the corner of the room crying into a blanket.
These people are sick, they are fucking leaving trails of filth everywhere. Not one of them is man enough to show their face to the world. Those who are killed will never know their killer, just the voice that sounds fake anyways. They mask everything, their victims who don’t want to see the punishment be given. And their voices to disguise what is real, they hide everything from you. It’s sickening as I’ve seen red lights in some of these rooms; always a man behind the chair with the victim sitting patiently. Their patience is key to whatever the killer wants in return, they lay down the odds like it’s their own playground. Run along in this happy world, everything turns to shit.
What strikes me as odd is the sudden change that occurs every two days. A man comes out wearing a black leather jacket- he talks about how all of those who left us are redeemed for now. Those who remain waiting for their treatment are actual cowards, and we are always told that we are nothing. They make it very clear that we are the garbage left to rot outside; always shown the darker side to our own actions. Discipline exists in this place; they take care of all those who break rules. None of them lay down any rules, even from the start I was left fighting for my life. One of those greasy fuckers held me down, my eyes trapped in spiral of madness. Not one pattern in the room looked the same, it’s like the entire room was spinning around on repeat.
“Did I say you could fucking talk? Did I say you could say a word to your bitch?!” A loud voice up roared from downstairs, followed by the sudden sound of a woman groaning.
You see, this place is not our haven, it’s not even Heaven. It’s our last resort, the one location where we can fear others. Our own safety is non-existent as there is always a leader to a violent act. Someone pushing the buttons, waiting for shit to happen, nobody is safe around here. All with courage never use it, and those with bravery are left outside with actual garbage. Talking trash is a real statement here, it actually has a real meaning. We are left to rot for anyone who comes by, we don’t get to say anything to our families, our friends, our loved ones. It’s not even worth a ‘goodbye’.
CHAPTER ONE COMING SOON !
"This was more of just a teaser, kinda like the Prologue but it focuses on the starting story."