CAGED

Prologue

I am used to the four walls of this place. The four corners surrounding me are just white like they want to conform my sanity to be nothing but a plain white paper.

It is not yet time. I hear no screams of anguish. I hear nothing. It is almost like if I find a way to break free, the halls would be empty. But I know better.

I can not say accurately what lies in the hallway or how many people are out there and what sort of weapons they carry. I know the men are plenty and there are girls like me waiting for their fate in these small cubicles. Okay, maybe they're not like me.

The shoe sounds and pattern of feet shuffling always tell me who is coming; if it's just a leisurely stroll or he's on an assignment. I know there's a woman. I do not know her walking pattern because the first day I heard her voice outside my door, I did not hear her approach; I only heard the man.

This little room is devoid of life. The bright lights shining so brightly do not let me know when the sun has fallen or when it has risen unless I go to the window which allows me to see the sky and another tall building blocking my view from the world.

I do not like to go to the window. I sit on the stool at the center of the room and imagine there's a fan above that I can hang my noose - if I had a noose. It is not like I want to die. No, I'm too full of life to want death. There's no fan anyway. Just natural air.

I try standing on the stool. I position myself till I'm balanced then I reach up to touch the ceiling. The ceiling is way above me and I'm just an average girl. The mission was a fail even before it began.

Still standing on the stool, I look around the room with arms folded. My life was becoming nothing. It was nothing before but it is like ashes now and the wind is blowing it away.

Tomorrow I might die or face whatever makes the girls outside this door scream. I always wonder what it is:

Did they always bring them out to the hallway to cut off their breast?

Was it their eyes being plucked out?

I climb down from the stool and continue to imagine what could make anyone scream like they were betrayed to be thrown into hellfire - so the scream comes from a place of heartbreak and physical pain. I try and fail to imagine the right circumstance.

The scream comes. I hear it like it is in the next room or outside my door. They will soon pass my room; they always do. One man will be carrying the girl - his steps are always different from the others that will be following them. The girl would still be wailing and struggling.

I wait. It only meant that my time to know what was making them scream was nearing. I wonder what order they use to operate. Is it the fairer ones first? or the taller ones first? or by time of arrival?

Soon they pass. There is no noise from the girl. She must have passed out. From the footsteps I hear, I can inaccurately say they were up to five men with the girl-carrier whose steps were more hurried than others.

I should be hungry but I am not. Not because I have adapted to this place with time but because, meals are in better proportion here than at home.

It is actually three weeks gone. I have been counting it because if I am going to die, I better know my death day.

I walk to the window to check if I can determine the time of the day by the weather. The sun is still out there playing in the clouds but it looked like it was getting tired. It would soon retire.

This should be a prison but I am more curious than I am scared. I woke up here in this ugly pink maternity gown. There is nothing here except a stool. Behind the wooden demarcation is my toilet and a wash hand basin. It is all too small for comfort.