I could rebel against the rules. I could start a fire and torch the whole fucking building. But to be honest, I just want to get by. I get the feeling, that up to now I’ve simply been trained. The demonstration of strength, the observation of the rules, and then the occasional punishment for failure to do so. It is only out of fear and my own dignity that I do not explain what happens when the house really punishes. The scar will be with me for the rest of my life.

So here I am. Typing this as I get that strange feeling again, like I’m not where I should be. I know something will happen but at this point it is too late. I’m a prisoner to these rules and I have no choice but to abide by them. I fear the rules. I fear what left bruises on my after I left the tap on. I fear what placed the scissors in my slippers. I fear what moves these doors and windows. But most of all, I fear what will happen after writing this.

I fear I’ll wake up in a solid, empty room.

A room that grows smaller every time I blink.