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Rain keeps pounding down, matching the impatient drumming of my fingers. “How soon?” I think. “How soon will I be free?” Fumbling around in the dark I find a small fragment of crayon. I can’t make out the color in the darkness. The darkness imprisons me, keeps me from discovering who I am. Keeps me from discovering what color the crayon is. “I hope it shows up on these walls, I think. I scootch myself closer to the cold, dank wall and blindly begin to write what must be my last words. When I’m finished I curl up in a ball on the frigid cement and close my eyes.
Just then, a man opens the door. He stares. I blink against the intruding light. Its first light I’ve seen since I was locked in this closet three days ago. “Three days” I think, astonished.
“Um, I’m sorry, was I…um, interrupting something?” the man stammers. I stare. I think he’s a janitor. I try to thank him for freeing me. I open my mouth and try to form the words “Thank you” I think. I can’t get the words out of my mouth. I clutch at my throat. I can’t speak. The man stares, panicked now, and backs away. He leaves the door open. I crawl outside- Into the light. Students mill around, stopping short when they see my wasted body lying on the floor. One comes over; it’s my best friend Devin. “Are you all right?” I nod, realized it’s him. “Who are you?” Devin asks.
“Who are you?”
“No!” I scream internally, “this can’t be happening! Devin you know me! I’m you best friend! Don’t you remember?”
“Who are you?” Devin asks again. “Why were you in a closet?” I can only stare blankly back at him.
“He doesn’t remember.”
One of Devin’s friends goes into the closet. I don’t recognize him. “Wait,” I realize, “I know everyone in this school. How do I not know him?”
The mystery friend comes back out of the closet with a strange look on his face. “Devin,” he says shakily, “I think you better come see this.” Devin follows him into the closet. Devin reads my last words aloud
“May 13, 2008,” he begins, then stops. He looks at me “It’s 2011.”
“How long have you been in there?” Devin asks. I hold up 3 fingers- one finger for each day in my prison. “Oh my God,” Devin says in disbelief, his eyes lighting up, “You’re her!”
“Her who?” I think
“You’re Marissa!” he exclaims, as if he read my mind.
“Yes!” I think, “Finally!”
“But- but you’re dead” he says, scared now.
“You disappeared 3 years ago,” he continues.
“They found your body”
“You’re not Marissa” he concludes, now terrified, backing away.
I scream on the inside. On the outside my mouth is open. No sound comes out though.
“I guess those really were my last words,” and then I’m surrounded by darkness again.