3I'm new to this, just a warning...
Disclaimer: This has been disclaimed
Prologue:
There is nothing vaguely unique about this story. I'm sure it is like one you've heard before. Maybe it is even you yourself living the story. They are getting more and more common everyday after all. Tragedy is only the story of life.
I'm an eighteen-year-old girl. Yeah, I know I don't sound it, and I'm sure the more I talk the less I will sound like one. But that's what happens when you're an abused child. It forces you to grow up quick, be precocious. I care nothing for the latest trends in pop culture; I do not make it my habit to speak ill of authority; I know zip about fashion; and you'll never catch me chit-chatting away with some friends about a hot boy. But no, it's not what you're thinking. My parents never abused me; they loved me. Not my teachers either, though they were strict Catholic nuns. My siblings had nothing to do with it—I am the firstborn after all. And my cat was ever kind to me. Who it was who twisted me into this emotional mess that I am now is none other than TS. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the name, but I'm sure even you have heard the news stories or perhaps anxious whispers and tales of some horrible being. Perhaps you thought it was nothing more than a child's story, a fiendish nightmare of fairytales. I only wish that were the case.
TS is an infamous "mad scientist", pervert, sadist, and kidnapper.
I remember the day as if it were only yesterday. Bronx, New York, United States of America… The twentieth day in January was a crisp, windy day—just how I liked it (though, rain or shine, I'd probably like any day that came right before my birthday.) Oh, such excitement that filled my six-year-old mind!-or should I say seven-year-old mind? I would have never guessed what was about to happen that day.
In that moment, as I waved goodbye to my good neighbor friend who had picked me up from school, all I was thinking about was the wonderful aroma of a freshly baked chocolate cake that would greet me when I stepped in the door. And I would run into the kitchen, proudly showing off my report card of five As and B+ to my mother, and inform her of some dreadful deed Kimberly Tanner had done in school; and I planned to ask her if the neighbors and my friend, Robbie, could come over; and I mischievously plotted searching the house for my gift. The next day would be my birthday party, daddy would be taking off from work, I didn't have any homework, the sun was shining, and things couldn't have been better. Life was this way, and it would always remain the same, I thought.
But no one was home when I opened the door. The house whispered abandoned and only Mew came out to greet me. To this day I don't know what happened to them. I can only guess. I pray they had life easier than I. Who knows, something inside me refuses to give up the hope that they are alive still to this day.
After I had searched the kitchen, dining room, living room, reading room, bathrooms, bedrooms, and backyard, an achy, bad, ominous feeling set over me, as if I was finally realizing that something bad had happened, was happening. It was in the attic—the one place I hadn't looked—a terrible something was waiting. Something named TS.
I believe that is exactly what TS stands for: a Terrible Something, for it is indeed terrible and is indeed something. It is not a human I know, though it does appear as one. It, or she, is short but amazingly plump. Its stubby body ripples with fat, arms jiggling like jello, stomach protruding and sagging past its thighs which were thicker around than I was. Its face is a nasty face, not just ugly, but cruel and shrunken, wrinkled with evil, greased with impatience. It smiles whenever it senses pain in its victims, exposing disgustingly browned teeth and receding gums. Besides all this it is covered in warts like some mutant toad and exceedingly hairy in all parts of the body save the top of the head, which is sparsely covered. I screamed when I saw it, but it snatched me quick, nearly suffocating me in its thick, sweaty arms. I fainted.
Life was just beginning to worsen.
I'm sure you've all had your share of days where you just flopped into bed utterly exhausted, feeling overworked and underappreciated. Perhaps then you can sympathize with me. For the first three years under her 'care,' TS had me working—whenever she wasn't experimenting with me. Work started promptly at six in the morning and ended at midnight, giving me some six hours sleep—hardly what a growing child should have, but I survived, far better than some of the other girls she worked to death. In that place, exhaustion and malnutrition were common things to suffer from. At all hours of the day, girls were moving mysterious boxes, and heavy, awkward sacks around. Now this work you might find easy if not a bit tedious, but you must remember the general age of the workers. It was maddening besides. TS, whether because it honestly could not make up its mind or for the pure cruelty of it, would have someone move an object here, just to have them move it back again, up and down the stairs and up again, repetitive things that made anyone just want to yell at her and run away. Of course, no one would dare do that, and those who did were instantly killed. Yes, as I said before TS was notorious for kidnapping (only girls); I wasn't the only unfortunate victim. The cave TS had us holed up in continually smelt rancid of death, there was always someone being tortured, and there was always someone screaming, crying, or throwing up. Rats and spiders were everywhere for those that feared them, but that hardly mattered compared to the other girls. TS wouldn't care much for the mind of a child and would openly kill anyone in front of me, in the most brutal, unconventional, and gruesome ways. Soon I found myself wanting in even the four hours of sleep I ought to have had. Images of death were always before my eyes.
I caught on to what TS wanted pretty quick. I learned never to cry after a month, and not to show any emotion if I could help it after a year. I wasn't to speak, and I wasn't to befriend any of the other girls. But I couldn't obey all those rules.
I'm sure it was Providence that did give me a friend in that horrid place. Musashi Miyamoto, fire sprite and what a fire brand she was. She was one of the tougher girls who gave TS problems and yet always skirted punishment. She was tough with me too, but she also protected me when she could and saved me scraps of food. Sometimes when she was feeling very kind she would let me sleep in her arms while she sang me a lullaby softly, like an adopted older sister. She often confided in me, for I had become a silent type and a good listener besides. I couldn't confide in her though, for she hardly had the patience or the ability to listen. But still she was a dear friend.
TS might have suspected something of the friendship between us and had us separated (for we had been in the same cell).
After three years had passed, TS actually expected us to spend our days learning martial arts, an odd turn of events and not so much better than before. Pardon me, it wasn't martial arts. It was unconventional really, more like 'do whatever you can to stay alive'. TS had created awful monsters in her experiments and we were to fight them or let them devour us. I don't even know why I bothered fighting. Death would have been such a sweet release—an escape from TS. I suppose I was too afraid, and it looked too painful. I really don't know how it was I survived those encounters. But I did for better or worse.
I learned that it was for worse as soon as I turned twelve. Then TS' darker nature was revealed to me …
But that is all in the past; it doesn't matter. I have no time to tell you of such trivial things now.