Slave

She ran away from the people who caged her, but how can she run away from her own fears.

The fifteen years I had spent at the Jonas’ farm kept returning with the moon, and escaping from my larynx, riding away on the moon.I had lived in fear of the shadows that the sun created and the darkness stars tried so hard to expel for three years. They could be hiding in the honeysuckle bush I picked fruit from each morning, or the bed I lay on each night. They could have poisoned the bread I baked or the juice I sometimes sold.

I was a slave at the farm. An object. Something to be thrown about, something made to be broken. Some of the physical scars still hurt, like the frostbitten left toe, or the burnt arms, but it was the emotional casualties that truly worried the doctors. Paranoia, insomnia, and all those fancy words I could not say haunted my mind even though I believed most of them were only used to torture my already dysfunctional brain. And thus, when they suggested I buy a dog, I brought three home.

The doctors had said taking care of a “fluffy buddy” would help me get better, and I had agreed, until they had been at my house for two days. I had to walk them when I felt afraid to go out, and pick their wastes up from under plants, which, again, scared me. And their barking, oh, how could I feel safe whilst they yelled out, “Maria’s here! Come take her!” each night? I guess the doctors’ plan had worked. I never had the time to go and bug them anymore, and they could proudly tell everyone they knew that they had cured me.

Maybe it was because I being petty, but I soon figured out a way to get my revenge. It was pretty easy, really, all you needed was a source of light and a dark room. All you have to do is get into the darkness with the dogs and shine a torch, or whatever your light is, on the floor. Then you can enjoy looking at the puppies run after the tiny spot and fight over who gets to ‘keep’ it. And as soon as they’ve calmed down, move the spot again. I guess it was my way of eliminating all the tortures I had faced at the farm, by giving the same pain to others.

But just as I had suspected from the beginning, I slowly started to feel bad for troubling the animals so much. They had warmed up more by now, and had started asking me to pet them. I had always thought they were slaves to the light, but as I sat petting them one evening, I figured they were not slaves. It was me, who was a slave of my pettiness, and that I had not been a slave, ever before this. IT had been the Jonases, who had been slaves of intoxication of their own wealth, cruelty, and narrow minds.

Author's Note

Let me know your honest opinion in the comments! Thanks for reading, you awesome people!

Reviews

[SRMarx]

Interesting story. If you are interested in revising it, I'd suggest expanding the story more and spending more time at certain scenes to make them more engaging.

[Vasilees Sybissyl]

Thank you for the review. Yes, maybe I will redo the story one day, thanks for the suggestions!

[Lauren Fisher]

what can I say,
oh, I don't know. But I do know that shiiii was EXQUISITE!!!!!!!

[Vasilees Sybissyl]

Thank you so much, Lauren!!

[Shasha]

It is amazing, girl! The ending was awesome! I loved it, I want more from you!
I don't have anything else to say, you took all my words after this.Only one thing:
A-M-A-Z-I-N-G

[Vasilees Sybissyl]

Oh, you flatter me, darling. Thanks for the compliment!

[Red swallow]

Amazing I absolutely love it keep going

[Vasilees Sybissyl]

Thank you very much!