Hell on earth
1135 Words
MIA POV
Still in a flashback, six months ago.
I woke up to the sound of someone calling me.
At first, I thought it was part of a dream. After crying until my chest hurt the night before, exhaustion had finally dragged me into a shallow sleep.
My eyes burned, my head throbbed, and my body felt unbearably heavy. My stomach twisted painfully, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything. I had refused every meal they offered me.
I didn’t want food.
I didn’t want comfort.
I didn’t even want to live.
If death could take me far away from this world from people who saw me as nothing, who treated me like I didn’t belong-then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Wake up.”
The voice was distant, rough, unfamiliar.
I kept my eyes closed, pretending not to hear. I clung desperately to the fragile hope that when I opened them, everything that had happened before would disappear.
That I would wake up in my small room back home. That my miserable old life would still be waiting for me.
At least I knew that life.
At least I was used to it.
“Wake up!”
A hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me roughly. I flinched and opened my eyes.
Reality crashed into me.
One of the armed men from the previous day stood over me, his face cold and impatient. Panic flooded my chest as I realized where I was. I wasn’t home. I wasn’t safe. I was lying on a strange bed in a room I didn’t recognize.
“I told you to wake up,” he snapped. “The boss is waiting for you.”
I stared at him, my body frozen, fear wrapping tightly around my limbs. Couldn’t he just leave me alone? Couldn’t I have one moment to breathe, to think, to gather myself?
I was so tired—tired of crying, tired of fear, tired of existing.
I hadn’t even swung my legs off the bed when pain exploded in my stomach.
The kick came without warning, brutal and sharp. Air rushed out of my lungs as my body folded and crashed onto the floor. I cried out, curling instinctively around the pain as it spread through my abdomen, leaving me gasping and trembling.
“That’s what happens when you don’t follow the rules,” he growled.
Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I lay there for a long moment, shaking, tears soaking into the cold floor beneath me. My hands trembled as I pressed them against my stomach, every breath sending fresh waves of pain through me.
This wasn’t a nightmare.
This was real.
Slowly, I forced myself to sit up. If I didn’t obey, worse things would happen. I had already learned that lesson.
That’s when I noticed the clothes.
A dress lay neatly folded on the small table beside the bed. Next to it was a pair of high-heeled shoes and a small note.
Put this on.
My fingers shook as I lifted the dress. The fabric was soft, expensive—nothing like anything I had ever owned. But when I unfolded it, dread settled deep in my chest.
It was short.
Too short.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning. The mirror reflected a girl I barely recognized as I changed. The dress clung to my body in a way that made me feel exposed and vulnerable, like I was wearing someone else’s skin.
I hated it.
I hated what it represented.
I slipped on the heels, wobbling slightly as I stood. Walking felt unnatural, uncomfortable. I didn’t belong in clothes like this.
A knock sounded, and the door opened.
“Move,” one of the guards ordered.
They escorted me down the hallway, their presence heavy on either side of me. My heart pounded harder with every step as familiar voices echoed ahead. When we reached the living room, the guards stepped aside.
The room fell silent.
There were five men seated in different places, all dressed in expensive suits. Each one looked older, powerful, and dangerous. Armed guards stood behind them, watching silently.
Their eyes turned to me.
I felt stripped bare under their gazes.
“She’s more beautiful than you described,” one man said.
“I’ll take her,” another added casually.
“She’s mine,” someone else declared.
My knees threatened to give out. Their voices blurred together, each word pressing down on me, crushing my chest. They weren’t talking about me as a person.
I was an object.
“The highest bidder will have her,” Mr. Adkins said, his lips curling into a smug smile.
So this was it.
I was being sold.
“Ten thousand dollars,” he continued.
Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. They were discussing my price while I stood right in front of them, trembling.
“And why are you crying?” Mr. Adkins asked coldly. “Come here.”
Fear locked my muscles, but I forced my legs to move. The memory of the kick earlier pushed me forward. I stopped in front of him, my body shaking.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
I hesitated, confusion and terror swirling inside me.
“I said turn around,” he snapped.
My mind screamed, but my body obeyed. I turned slowly, humiliation burning through me as the room filled with murmurs and low voices.
“She’s young.”
“Innocent.”
“That makes her valuable.”
Hands brushed too close. I flinched, my skin crawling, my heart racing wildly. My mind began to retreat inward, pulling away from the room, from the voices, from the fear.
I stopped resisting.
There was no point.
Something inside me cracked—quietly, painfully. I felt myself drifting, numbing, disconnecting from my body.
This was hell.
Not fire or demons—but cold rooms, greedy eyes, and the realization that no one was coming to save me.
The laughter echoed in my ears, distant and distorted, until everything faded into darkness.
---
When I came to, I didn’t know how much time had passed.
My body felt heavy, sore, and empty all at once. I stared at the ceiling, unable to cry anymore. Whatever had happened, my mind refused to remember clearly—and maybe that was mercy.
I turned my face into the pillow and closed my eyes.
I had thought my life before was unbearable.
I hadn’t known what unbearable truly meant.
If this was living, then I didn’t want it.
But somewhere deep inside the broken pieces of me, something still flickered. Weak. Fragile. But alive.
They had taken my freedom.
They had taken my safety.
But they hadn’t taken my will.
And one day-somehow-I would find a way to survive this.
- Writer
