Monologue Of Slavery

I still remember the screams and agony of children who were my age back then. It is still a memory that makes my stomach rage with disgust and despair. Those children never deserved to live like that. Sometimes I wish that I could have taken a few kids rather than being so vain. Nevertheless, I am just glad I was able to escape the hell I was destined to stay imprisoned in. My story starts when I was just a little girl who could not understand what was happening around me. Sadly, my childhood was spent without the loving warmth of a mother or father. My parents both died before I could grab a signal memory of them. Nobody knew who they were, and nobody cared how they died. The only thing my parents were able to pass on was a dictionary.
Even if I finally found time to read my dictionary, it would be constantly locked away by the person who ran the place. I had a few minutes to myself with little options of what I should do, and so I just chose to just sit and ponder. During this time, I was usually thinking of the worst. There were times when I questioned if this “job” was all to my life. That my life had no purpose or meaning but to only be a slave till I die. After a while of time contemplating on the idea, tears would dribble down my bloodied cheeks as I realize I was born into a hell I never asked to
Without any hesitation, I shoved the rusty shovel between the hinges of the door and began to force it open. Luckily for me, the wood was already worn out which made it easy to pry open. The shovel clanked next to my stinging feet as I watched the door creak open, slowly revealing a tidy bedroom. My stomach churned with a sick feeling as I compared the factory’s harsh environment to this small, clean room that only a few could enter. Sneakily, I tiptoed to the organized shelf and obtained my dictionary. It was the one thing I would not escape