[W.I.P] Short Story(?)

Do you know the story of Medusa? A beautiful woman who was violated in a place of worship only for her to be placed under a curse. Why does this matter? 20 or so kids stuck in a cold cellar that we once knew to be this great, lively place. A master we have to obey every word to. Their playful games make me sick. Is it so hard to take responsibility for something you've done? Her words, like poison, slowly creeping up your throat while you choke on your own blood and decaying organs. Her playful personality to hide what wicked, morbid thoughts she has. 

We will never escape. She was someone we were supposed to trust, so why does "trust" feel so self-destructive when we're around her? She treats "special" kids like her prizes. Like glass houses meant to be shown off and profit off of. But that's not what we are. 

The moment an unfamiliar face walks through that door, our chains come off and the game's begun. The playful personality we all drank before we knew what that sweet taste was. Why does nobody hear our cries? Our cries are muffled by these walls, walls that were supposed to be for our "protection." Made to lock us in with what we tried to lock out, the person we tried to run away from. We have no power here. Our power was taken the moment we stepped into her trap. Our own will was taken from us before we could blink. Maybe that’s why people stayed away from her. We all ignored their warnings, we all spoke highly of her not knowing what truly lied behind her kind words. We all tried to run away, with no avail, the moment we found ourselves chained to this room. 

Every single unfamiliar face, every single outsider, every way to get us out. We’ve tried. We’ve tried escaping from her grasp to only be met with hands gripping our throats commanding us to stop our motion and once again obey to her commands. Her temper is something no one messes around with. Like a volcano waiting to burst, we all stay cautious of what she might do or say, but many of us have failed to do so and have met her blade. Her blade, the only thing she uses to flaunt her power. Despite having many other ways to torture us, she chose the one we all knew would satisfy her lust. Maybe that’s what’s going through her mind when she sees us. Perhaps she’s thinking of every way she could torture these flesh jails we knew as our own bodies. Perhaps the knowledge she holds is only half of what we’ve truly seen. Meeting our own efforts of revenge and returning them to us tenfold. 

We have no power here, we never have and we never will. That is the difference between her and us, we will never understand what it feels like to be people of our own again. The thorns of words she spews and rests dracula flowers on our corpses will always be engraved freshly in our impressionable minds. We’re just toys to her, marionettes on a string for her amusement. We are not people in the eyes of her and we never will be. The moment our strings tangle or snap she throws us away and leaves our bodies to rot. To her, we are nothing but her servants to do her bidding. Our bodies are nothing to her but flesh boxes with souls trapped inside them. No feelings are shown in this dictatorship, nothing but hatred and abuse. Sweet phrases and words told to us are nothing but lies. Bloodlust hidden behind words of encouragement and acts of kindness.

“Can’t someone hear these venomous words she tells us ever so harshly?” We cry in a plea. 

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This story probably is really bad but considering it's something I wrote during a breakdown.. I'm not super mad at it 😭