It's been dark, where I am. And it's raining.
I'm alone, and I'm scared. I'm sealed in a vacuum, and even though I cry, I know no one will hear me.
I'm keeping the desperation at bay with a little wooden stick. It's nothing, really, just a little stick as slim and as long as a chopstick. Anyone could snap it into half with one hand. But it's all I've got, so I'm gripping it as hard as I can, and weilding it as if it was a magic wand.
The monsters circle just beyond my own shadow. It's inevitable that they will smell the fear permeating from my pores.
I've been here a long time. It's only when I shut my eyes that I can dream of other places. It's only when I shut my eyes that I can imagine other worlds, other sensations,... like light, and happiness, and joy, and laughter. I've peeked into other people's worlds, other people's happiness. I've spent a lot of time standing in the shadows outside homes filled with warmth and unity, wishing I was inside. But always, when it gets dark enough, people pull their curtains, leaving me alone in that dark. Alone and frightened of the monsters that come sniffing at my heels.
I'm so tired of being where I am. I'm so tired of trying, of fighting, of struggling, just to get more of the same. Just to see the same old things, to experience the same old hurts, the same of desperations, the same of pain, the same old aches.
I just don't want to be here anymore.