The Crackhead Chronicles Of The Six Strange Swans

Prisoner

The ropes are tightly wrapped around her wrists, tying them together behind her back. Masked figures hold on to either side of her, as they walk her somewhere she has yet to know.

She tries pushing the un-identified people off of her. But their grip just gets stronger. There will surely be bruises left on the girls arms.

Finally after walking for what seemed forever, though a blurry darkened, indistinguishable place, one of the masked figures opens a heavy metal door. They shove the girl into what looks like a prison cell. They make her kneel down on the ground before removing the ropes from her wrists, only to be replaces by heavy chains that will lock the girl's arms around a metal pole. Finally, the masked people leave the room and lock the metal door behind them.

The girl is alone.

It's cold.

She shivers.

She feels a sense of doom.

The only light is coming from a street lamp that can be seen through a small window.

The girl looks down at the ground in front of her. She is confused to see a puddle there. The light from the window allows the girl to see a faint reflection of herself.

Suddenly, her reflection morphs into something else. She looks puzzled to see a little girl with dark curly hair. The little girl has a disposable camera in her hands and she excitedly runs around in a field of flowers, taking pictures. Then an older woman comes into view. The puddle is playing a memory like movie in front of the locked up girl.

In the memory, the older woman, or the mom of the younger girl, holds her daughters hand. They finish their walk to the neighborhood park. They spend a while, taking pictures and playing together. The little girl is sad to leave the park, but she can't wait to get home for lunch.

A tear falling from the prisoners face, splashes into the puddle, disrupting the memory. The memory changes.

The same little girl, only a few years older, runs up to her bedroom excitedly. Her mom had just told her there was a surprise waiting there. The five year old looks around her room in awe. Her mom redecorated the entire room while the girl was away at her first day of kindergarten.

Her favorite colored, yellow blanket is neatly tucked into the bed frame. Some of her favorite story books and knight action figures are on the shelf right next to the bed. The little girl and her mom end up sitting on the bed as she recounts all that happened on her first day of school.

The memory shifts again. The five year old is now eleven. Older, but still blissfully innocent. But this was all about to end.

The memory shows the eleven year old girl and her best friend after their very last day of fifth grade. Nothing was usual about the two friends having a sleep over. What was unusual however, was how the eleven year old's mom was behaving. Her best friend tells her that her mom has too much to drink. The eleven year old is confused and in denial at first. But as she observes her mother's sloppy behavior more, she feels fear settle in her stomach. Maybe her friend was right. Maybe her mom was drunk.

The prisoner blinks back more tears before squeezing her eyes closed. She feels physical pain all over her body from watching her past. She doesn't want to remember the good or bad. She tries yanking herself free of the chains, but they only causes her skin to start ripping. The silent memories playing in the puddle are suddenly deafening loud. If the prisoner won't watch, she will have to listen.

In this memory, her past self is fifteen. She rides her bike back home from working on her grades homing float for the parade that was at the end of the week. She was more than happy to spend every day after school working on it, anything to get out of the house. The last few months at home have bee rough. Her parents relationship has been particularly strained, and her mothers drinking has gotten worse. Way worse.

The fifteen year old hops off her bike and is ready to walk into the garage, when her mother's drunken voice greets her. Something ignited in the teen. She was sick of coming home every day for the last month to see her mom drunk. Not only that, but the last four years she bottled up her anger about her moms drinking habits. The daughter finally snapped at the mother.

A voice fueled with pure rage leaves the girls body. She is practically breathing fire as her almost demonic voice screams at her mother about her drinking. Of course, her mom would never admit she had a drinking problem. Instead, her mom made her feel almost stupid for thinking such a thing. The teen runs up to her room and slams her bedroom door. She looks out the window and cries. But she only has a few minutes to herself before her mom walks up the stairs in invades her daughters room. This triggers yet another outburst in the teen. She finally runs out of the house and hops back on her bike.

The prisoner opens her eyes again, as she remembers this part of the memory is beautiful. She watches her younger self bike away from her house as fast as she can to escape her mom. It was around the time the sun was almost setting. All the of autumn colored trees have an extra golden hue right now. Finally, the girl on the bike stops riding after an hour. She sits by herself on a hill that overlooks many trees, a train track and a creek. She watches the sunset as she debates wether to go back home at all.

After the memory fades away, the prisoner feels even more pain cripple her body. She bangs her head against the pole, hoping to knock herself out. She can't stay here, trapped, watching memories play one after the other. She would rather die. She continues to bang her head. Blood comes pouring out and mixes with the tears and water on the ground. And yet the girl isn't dead nor is she dying. Memories continue to play like a horror movie in front of her. The prisoner starts screaming for mercy. She begs for help from anyone to let her out of the room.

"You'll never escape as long as you push the memories away. You must face your demons eventually. If you don't face them and defeat them, they will continue to come back." The prisoner hears her own voice echo through the cellar.
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The girl opens her eyes and springs up into a sitting position. She breathes heavily as she recovers from her nightmare. She wipes some sweat off her face before reaching over and grabs the cup of water on the night stand. This nightmare shows up every so often. But it's always the same, just different memories played.

The girl clams down a little before she starts sobbing. When will she ever move past this. When will she ever have a day without feeling the heaviness inside her that her mother created.

This girl is her own prisoner.
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A/N: Nugget reporting for duty😎🇬🇧

Yup I am able to writing depressing shit too. I'm definitely exposing myself here but ah oh well. 

Also here's a short little quote:

"Oh but that's the irony, broken people are not fragile." - Clinton Sammy Jr.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡