The Cupboard

How did this happen again? Little three-year-old Harriet thinks.

Freak was being a good freak three-year-old girl being quiet and pretending freak didn't exist. Curled up in ITS cupboard. Small and cramped as the thing was. It was freaks, and freaks made sure not to destroy the beautiful webs freaks only friends the spiders made. The cupboard under the stairs in number 4 private drive was freaks and only freaks. Uncle Vernon couldn't fit in the cupboard, and Aunt Peutiuna would never go in a dirty "disgusting" cupboard. What would the neighbours think if she did? And Dudley would never go in freak's space. It was freaks safe space. Freaks haven freaks place where freak can finally relax.

Trying to ignore the grumbles in my tummy from the delicious smelling food. Why can't I have some? Freak was perfectly content only to have a slice of bread and sometimes, if freak was lucky, with butter every two days exactly when the sun rises. Freaks don't deserve more freak repeats in their minds whenever freak feels freak's stomach shrinks and feels like it is eating itself.

It was normal and routine. Being curled up in the cupboard when Uncle Vernon has a guest over after all, "Freaks are to remain hidden." Freak winces slightly when freak moves. Uncle Vernon had a bit too much fun with the belt last night. I don't have the right to complain though, after all, " Freaks are made for stress relief. " Sometimes Freak doesn't like being freak. But, it is better than being in an orphanage where all the other freaks and troubled kids go. in the orphanage, they sell you to people who do experiments on you and, when you're not useful anymore, kill you.

What isn't normal is when my cupboard door is opened, and the scruff of my oversized shirt pulls me out of the cupboard with an unfamiliar hand pulling it. I was lifted from the ground and came face to face with an unfamiliar man with a creepy smile on his face. He was pale and had a sharp nose and square jaw. Round eyes in a dull brown. He was bald and had a skinny type of muscle. He was also tall, very tall. I feel a sharp pain in my neck, and everything faded to black.

When I wake up, we are in a steel room. I am chained down to a metal chair. I snap my head to the right then to the left. It is just dull grey. I gulp and suddenly have a foreboding feeling. I was right to because a lady walks in and starts the world of pain. I don't know how long it has been, but all hours, minutes, seconds, days. People come in and pull at something, and it hurts so much. Over and Over again. The pull and tear and heat and it burn. Sometimes it is nothing, but then it gets too soothing. Artificial fake lets put you to sleep forever. Sometimes it feels like what I imagine lightning to be, others what a raging storm. Others felt like a gentle sun but then turned into a scorching desert when they started to pull. The thing was, they all wanted to take my warmth and shove theirs in instead, and they don't fit, and they are not mine.

I refused, and as soon as they started reaching, I pulled back. No matter how much it hurt. They didn't like that. They started dumping water on me, and I hate it. They pour water on a cloth over the top of my face and tilt the chair back while they try to take my warmth. It burns my eyes and nose and flows down my throat, and it makes it hard to breathe. I think I really don't like water now. It makes it hard to hold back my warmth when they try to weave theirs into it. They try to take too much and put too little back in, and it hurts so much. Like my soul is being ripped to pieces when it is perfectly healthy, and then they are trying to sew it back together with much too thin tread that keeps snaping.

Then everything stops.