Young Writers Society

The upper room was cleared of all presence except for the heavy, perfume-filled air and the lonely child sitting on the bed. A great cold had engulfed her little heart, frozen her senses. Her hands clamped in a vice-like grip to the edge of her old, ragged skirt. Her keeper said that it was okay to be nervous on the first day. She had said in an unnervingly gentle tone that as long as she stayed quiet and did everything asked of her, everything would be fine. Why didn’t she believe her keeper?

The little girl had felt nervous before; she was quite accustomed to the idea. Her head ducked down, her bare feet crisscrossed as haunting memories of girls like her played through her mind. Many of them had never come back from this room or the other rooms like it that were around. Her best friend never came back from that exact room, leaving the girl with ultimate loneliness. The older girls used to say there were monsters that came in with them and would hurt them, but they grew even older yet and their stories turned from horrifying monsters to loving princes. There was a soft cry from the other side of the paper thin walls, causing her to shudder. If what she was told was true, she never wanted to be loved by a prince.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the heavy footfalls coming from the stairs; her large, slanted eyes were fixed on the door, growing even wider like that of tea saucers. The footsteps stopped, but the metal handle jiggled back and forth. Her body was out of control, trembling from head to toe. That cold feeling in her heart grew; she wanted to scream so badly. She knew she wasn’t supposed to, but her wits were lost, her soul bound by pure fear. The door opened and in walked a man, clad in a fancy dark suit. At first it put her more at ease. He didn’t look unlike the many men she saw on the street from her window. But he wasn’t right, which put her back on edge. Something in the way he stood there and the hungry look in his eyes made her shiver. She involuntarily flinched as he stepped forward in a giant stride and brushed his large, clammy fingers against her skin.

His hands travelled, and all that was left in her eyes was a hazy inclination of what was happening. She wanted to run, to get away. She wanted to hit him, to yell and hide. She wanted so much, but she couldn’t. She sat still, no noise from her and no disobedience. Something clicked and she now knew why the other girls never came back. They never made it. The child in chains remained trapped in her lonely upper room, never more an innocent.