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Mireya

Play - To Become the person you want, you must destroy the person you are by érror, bêtt, alper6nen

The Torment

The morning air is cold. October is coming, and so is winter here in Seraphin Bay.

I had to come back to St. Ellesta today as new students arrived to get my yearbook. After this I need to pick up Milo from Edna’s and bring him back with me. He’ll stay with us until we have to leave.

I think I needed to see this place one last time before everything changes. I spent an entire year here, and somehow it feels like a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time.

In two days, we’re leaving. And I’m terrified. I should feel excited, lighter even. Maybe I do, somewhere underneath the exhaustion.

Sometimes I still catch myself thinking that I’ll wake up and discover I never made it this far, that all of this was just another thing I imagined while trying to survive.

But it’s true, and we’re leaving.

I reach my car, the yearbook tucked beneath my arm, and unlock the door.

“Raven hair.” I freeze. That voice. I know that voice. My hand stills on the door handle as every muscle of my body locks. “Where do you think you’re going?”

A hand closes around my arm, and everything happens too fast. The yearbook slips from my hands and hits the pavement.

I’m about to turn around and push him away, when something covers my mouth.

“You’ve been really bad, time for you to explain yourself,” he whispers.

And then, everything goes black.

Play - Under by Alex Hepburn

I'm awoken to the feeling of something tight circled around my wrists, the feeling is sharp and it twists like stinging nettles. I try to pull away but I can't.

The memories come back as flashes. The parking lot. The car. The voice.

Raven hair.

My eyes snap open. The ceiling above me is unfinished and cracked at some parts, stained with dark patches. A single light hangs up there but it’s blurry.

I pull harder against the restraints, but nothing happens.

No…I’m not going to panic.

Footsteps approach and I tilt my head to see his face. A man steps into my vision. I don’t know him. But something in me recognizes him immediately. He stops a foot away, not speaking, only with a disgusting smile plastered on his lips.

I pull against the chains until my wrists sting. “Let me go.”

He still says nothing.

“Let me fucking go!” I yell louder.

Still nothing from him. He watches me, curious, but I know it’s him. For years I tried to see his face, to know the person behind my scars, behind my abuse, and now he’s in front of me, but he doesn’t want to talk.

I laugh, shaking my head, before staring him down. “I’ll fucking kill you if you ever let me out of this chair!”

Still no reply.