Anatole France once said, “Love is like a rose. It looks beautiful on the outside… but there is always pain hidden somewhere.”

I had spent most of my life secured away from civilization. I was hidden; concealed by the walls of the three-story house and the dirty mysteries that filled behind them. I grew terrifyingly familiar with the sound of quietness. By a young age, I had accepted being alone. I had no one to be near or have near. I would spend my time watching the analog clock that hung on the wall, tick back and forth.

It had been one hundred thirteen thousand, nine hundred ninety-one hours by the time I was free. I was able to open the left window in the living room. I noticed a few days back it was unlocked, I assumed when the men were over they open the window and forgot to lock it. I have been waiting to make my escape. Once I noticed the window being unlocked, I made it my intention to make sure it stayed that way. When I heard the heavy footsteps leave the house, I made my escape. I climbed through the window, landing on the prickly bush.The sound of my breathing echoed through my head as I ran through the woods. The trees and bushes seemed endless as I reached out; grabbing anything I could get a hold of to push myself on. How long had I been running? The thought of being lost scared me, but the thought of being found terrified me. I closed my eyes imaging the eyes of my enemy, his cold fingertips brushing against my skin, the feeling of blood dripping down my face after I had been punished for misbehaving.

I recognized that the world consumes everything, satisfaction, gratification, loyalty, admiration, relationships, experiences, smiles, hope, and even something as beautiful as a flower was murdered by this evil, sadistic world, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Except exist and perish one day.