[ MISSING HOME ] ON HOLD

1

They were like mummies, rolled with bandages from head-to-toe, thick foam covered their entire body to prevent them from moving. Laid on a pale plain bed with blankets so thin, food so bland, and medical bills so expensive- the healthcare at its finest.

The monitor beeping was ringing in their ears, getting more irritating as minutes pass by.

Their body felt so sore and stiff, they were half expecting to hear a terrifying crack once they can move again.

The room was bland, a drawer that's probably empty, a door at the left, and on the opposite side was a single window with the curtains open- but they don't know. They wouldn't know.

It's not like they can move anyway.

Let alone tilt their head.

Heh.

At least they weren't in a worse situation, or wearing a shirt that makes their butt 'out and proud' or something.

They just want to be back home again, where they can rest on their bed and worry about nothing- well, there are a couple of things. But they can quickly take care of it, it is what they're best at, after all.

But what house?

It was quite funny, they were homeless now.

They were probably sobbing like shit. I hope they do.

It was surprising, that the human body can survive a full-blown explosion- that can survive with their limbs missing.

You sure were glad that you're not one of them.

You were quite happy that they got what they deserve, but it wasn't enough. They can't just withdraw all the things they did to you- what they did to all of you.

You sighed, you'll just leave it to the others, the others that weren't hit by the explosion, of course. You were glad that someone in the 'family' has the same thought as you.

Being locked in a single place with so little freedom, that's what they said, and they wanted revenge for what they have done to their brothers and sisters.

You applaud them, but at the same time, worried. Your caretakers are close- fuck it, the embodiment of the word 'psychopaths', having no remorse or mercy to the others.

But they're not alone, you reassure yourself. Calling the police is also the option, but you rather not get roped into an interrogation and be placed in another orphanage.

You have enough of that place.

You don't want to commit another arson.

You tug on your hoodie, strolling on the paved walk. It was quite late, the sky was dark as black, the lampposts emits a warm orange light, they were amazing. And seeing so many trees in one place- it was like a dream come true.

Though, the trees look so much different from the tree you knew- it was perfectly fine, you still love them. There were tall buildings, cafes, board signs, and everything you can see in every street.

But what amazed you the most- was the colorful lights of the city. It was mesmerizing, like it was sparkling, placing you in a trance. And that smell, that sweet sweet foreign smell coming over the pastel-colored cafes.

You smiled to yourself, filled with happiness to the brim- your heart felt weird, but the fact it happened when you feel so happy? Maybe it was normal.

The outside world was truly amazing, your opinion and thoughts have failed to fail you.

Clutching your jacket right at the heart. Your head glance at your side, seeing a narrow alley, filled trash, an odor smell, and-

You grimaced- darkness.

You haven't even entered the alley yet, but you already loathe it. It reminds you of that place.

That darned place.

That isolated da-dark r-room-

You turned your head around to the colorful lights once more. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, you're free now, it won't happen again.

Anxiety slowly consumes you.

It won't happen again. It won't happen again. Nothing can stop you from claiming your freedom. You can do whatever you want now.

Dread fills your heart.

You're a mature kid- nothing can faze you. You've gone through adult stuff. You can handle worse.

Panic washed over your mind.

But you're just a child. A child that witness the dark side of the world- that experienced the dark side of the world. A child that went through that no one should have. A child who hasn't gotten proper education. A child who is scared to face the world alone. Just a child.

Your legs give in, your knees land harshly on the hard, cold, ground. Your skin stings from the contact- much different from stubbing your knee from the old wooden floor- but this. This was worse. Your lips quivered.

What was I thinking? The outside world is dangerous, the beauty is a trap to lure us in- to distract us from the harsh reality. Maybe I should've stayed, maybe I shouldn't have done it. If I was just more obedient-

You curled yourself, hugging yourself into a ball as your head touch the cold pavement floor. Your eyes were starting to feel wet, your throat was swelling- fuck.

No, it doesn't matter now. Fuck your past, fuck your empathy to the others, and most certainly fuck what you're previously thinking of.

You tried to peer out of your ball to see if someone was staring at you, or possibly worse, judging you. But all you see was an alley- the dark alley with a bright neon poster plastered on the wall.

If I can't last a minute out here, then I better make it worth it.

You fight off a sob, carefully pulling yourself off the ground as you stumble towards the torn poster. The new colors were beautiful to your eyes- eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

There were four people, perhaps humanoid animals are the right word. Their fist were up in the air while the other hand was occupied by an instrument- they have happy faces, joyful ones.

At the top text, it read 'Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex', what a long name, you thought. But it was better than the name of the orphanage- no. You shook your head.

You're supposed to move on.

No need to bring the past up.

Sighing through your nose, your breathing calmed down, that's better. Moving back to the poster.

The bottom text reads 'your friends are waiting for you', huh, friends.

It was odd for you- that they consider you as a friend despite just encountering it, or maybe they were refering to your friends.

Pshht, what friends?

The people in the orphanage don't get along anyway, not like they want to. But it was still terrible for a child.

For a child to think that the word friend is foreign to them.

But maybe- maybe if you give it a chance- friends are supposed to be wonderful, right? Maybe they'll make you happy- to help you.

You tore the poster off the wall, faintly smiling to yourself as you fold the poster and tucked it under your jacket, the poster was kind of big compared to your small body, so it was obvious that you were hiding something.

Might as well embark on a journey.

Beware Freddy's Pizzaplex, a traumatized child is coming through your way!