I sat there confined. No one around to be bothered by; thats when I would think. A million different thoughts traveled through my head. Yes, I was a bit psychotic but I would never let that out for the world to know. They would lock me up for good and that i don’t like.
I stare at the wall and know my day is coming and those who have held me here will then know too. They tell me I have a visitor coming. I know I don’t know them but they’re coming to help. Help me out of here, hopefully. As far as they know i have no problems, unless someone has told them. But, who’s to tell if no one knows.. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks again. It tends to do that every so often..
Upon waking up the next day I see a car outside i’m unfamiliar with. It makes me nervous. Real nervous. What if I go forever?.. Thirty minutes pass and no visitors have came up yet.
I reach under my thin, cold, stiff mattress and grab my blade. The way it feels making a thin slice and see the blood drop forcefully to the floor relieves my nerves. I pop a pen open and fill the carving with ink. I’m obsessed with tattoos and being confined, I make mends work with the tools i have.
There it is. That knock at the door. I scurry to get all my belongings back into hiding.
“Come in” I offer to whoever it is wanting to come in.
The door makes a slight turn and creaks open slowly. A thin man, tall and slim, approaches me. He has a button up shirt with a pocket and two pens sticking out. He has a cigar in the pocket of the Dickie pants he is wearing. He creeps closer and my heart starts to race. He looks around my room but doesn’t make a sound. To break all awkwardness I decide to say something.
“Who are you?”
He responds, “The names Noah. I have a doctorates degree and I think I can help you.”
“Why do you even want to help me? What do I need help with?”
“Your foster parents contacted me with worries about you. All they said was that you’re up here all the time and won’t come out. You won’t eat and you don’t talk to anyone.”
“They locked me up here. I want to be free. They won’t let me!” I jumped back with. But that’s the truth, I think. I would never want to just stay up here. Would I? No, no I wouldn’t.
Obviously avoiding my response as if he knows the truth he asks another question, “Why will you not eat?”
“Would you eat from someone who keeps you locked up? There’s no telling what’s in that disgusting food.”
“I doubt..”
“Ok. Let’s get to the point. You’re here to make me answer these questions that will make me sound crazy and when I do, you’re going to take me to some hell hole facility for the rest of my life. I know what ya’ll think. You think I am the one who killed her. She was my mother. Why would I do such a thing..” But, the truth behind it all was I know in my gut who did it. The day i’m gone out of here will be the day everyone else does too. She’s the reason i’m crazy.
“I’m not here to manipulate you, Lilly, is it?” he responds.
“It’s Lilly. I’d prefer to be called Annie. No one knows that but, no one has ever asked.”
“I want to help you. I want to help you be free. I had a daughter. Her name was Bellah. She was my world. Still is my world. She died six months ago. She drown trying to swim. No one noticed her. Anyways, I’m here to help you. I’m on your side. I believe YOU.”
“Do you honestly?”
“Yes. I seen you case and I decided to choose it.There’s much more to your past isn’t there?”
“You wouldn’t understand it. Please leave. My day is close and revenge can be made then.”
“Listen,” he says, “don’t do anything crazy.” *he grasps my hand* “I still see my little girl in dreams. I can hear her laugh and feel her little hands wrap around my waist giving me hugs. Don’t get put away for..”
Something came over me. He wouldn’t shut up. I had too. Uh-oh. Blood was everywhere. What had I done. I just killed this innocent man. It wasn’t really my fault was it though? I asked him to leave and he wouldn’t. I have to clean it up. I take a towel and soak the blood up with it until he drips loose from it. Going to hide his body I find his wallet. Ha. Ofcourse. A picture of the little brat  he kept bringing up.He would bring her up about every little thing. I grabbed his wallet and find a grocery list with two items on it: Twinkies and magazines. Wow, this guy is really weird.. I hear footsteps close. Closer. Here.
*Knock, knock, knock*
“Who is it?” I question.
“Margaret honey. Is your visitor still around?” the witch profounds.
“No. He left about twenty minutes ago. Said he ran out of gas and would be back for his car later.”
“Thats strange. I didn’t see him leave..” *slight pause* “Well okay sweety. Thank you.”
Thank god she left. Her and her stupid skirts, and tucked in blouse with the cape looking thing she wears. Oh, and the hideous heels with the tan panty hose. I want her. Dead.
I keep my door locked up tight and get ready for bed. The following morning I woke up to no one being home. This was rare. Very rare. I took my chance and didn’t think twice. I put on my old clothes and packed a bag to tag along with me. Everything was in place and I’m ready to go. I step outside the door. Today was the day. The day I got out the house. It feels tiff and mucky out and breathing the air of cow poo and over flowing trash bins is actually nice. After finally having my freedom i travel to the place I’ve always to go. I know I can find answers and seek the comfort I need. After twenty miles of hot humid air I arrive at what might be the worst place ever. Aunt Clarise never loved me; she would just use me as a little slave and when mom died I know she is the one who killed her. She wanted that money. All of it.
I approach the door and with the slightest touch it creaks open. I walk inside to find that she has just left for work based on the thrown around clothes and not that read: “Bye hun. I’m off to work. See you later tonight.” Which was followed by a replied later stating: “ Mom, went out for a little while. Love you.” This is my chance, I thought. I would find all the answers I need. Wandering through the house I find an attic string and pull it down. Dust flew every which way leaving a cloud of little particles floating through the air. I take one step up and hear the worst screech ever. Step after step the obnoxious noise would follow, driving right through my ears. As I reach the top I look around and all I see is pitch black. There’s a window, but it is covered in such a thick coat of dust no sunlight can break through. I scamper over to make a way for light to sliver through to me. There’s filth all around me. A few bugs scurry over my feet and cobwebs latch to my arms. I have to get out of here. I notice towards the back that pictures are thrown around; I walk closer to them and slip on what feels like thick slime from possibly a snail. I can’t quite tell due to my insufficient amount of light. Upon grasping the photos I realize that the temperature has to be in the forties or fifties. Very cool for an unused attic. My mind tells me a lot of things that I don’t know whether to believe or not. But, right now I knew what was going on and I had to find it. Old pictures of me and my mother, unbearably cold temperatures, squeaky steps that lead to a dark room, and no light reaching in. It all is true and I knew it. I turn to run out and i hear the steps fold up. I’m locked in.