Amy

Maps of bruises

The crack in the wall, that sliver of forbidden light, became my secret window to a world beyond this room. I’d spend hours pressed against it, my eye straining to see anything, anything at all. The sliver of sky, that dark, starless expanse, was my only connection to the outside, a vast, unknowable realm that whispered promises of escape. I imagined the stars, hidden behind the veil of darkness, like tiny pinpricks of hope, stubbornly refusing to be extinguished. I’d whisper to them, to the sliver of sky, to the crack in the wall, sharing my secrets, my fears, my desperate longing for a life beyond these walls.

My body became a map, a landscape of bruises and scars, each mark a testament to the violence I endured. I learned to read the patterns, to anticipate the blows, to brace myself for the inevitable. The pain was a constant, a dull, throbbing ache that settled into my bones, a reminder of my vulnerability. But beneath the pain, a flicker of defiance began to grow, a stubborn refusal to be broken.

The whispers in the dark continued, revealing fragments of their plans, their intentions. I learned the name of the place they were sending me: "The House of Whispers." The name itself sent shivers down my spine, a chilling premonition of the horrors that awaited me. They spoke of "clients," of "arrangements," of "payments." Their words were cold and clinical, devoid of any human emotion, treating me as nothing more than a commodity, a piece of merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder.

One night, I overheard a conversation that made my blood run cold. They were discussing my "training," preparing me for my new life. They spoke of "lessons," of "discipline," of "breaking me." The words hung in the air, heavy and menacing, like a physical weight pressing down on me, suffocating me. I curled into a ball, my body trembling, my heart pounding in my chest, the fear of a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

I began to hoard scraps of information, pieces of overheard conversations, fragments of memories, anything that might give me an advantage, anything that might help me survive. I learned to read their expressions, to decipher their moods, to anticipate their actions. I became a master of observation, a silent observer in my own prison.