You look into the yard with all of the playing children. They look happy over there, playing in the sand. Oh how you yearn to be over there making friends, sharing cookies.
Passing notes between your friends and drinking lemonade while staring up at the clouds.
Instead, you can only view from afar. Eating nothing but oatmeal and drinking water. The only words being passed were the please and thank-you's you'd give the maid.
The only sunshine being from the window next to the rickety rocking of the chair.
The bed squeaked as you sprawled out on it, holding a dusty journal to your chest. You held the book in front of your face, caressing the spine.
This had been your mother's journal before she was taken away. The cover had faded leaving only the silhouette of words as if they had been embedded into it.
Despite what the cover looked like, you loved the book. It was the only memory left of your past and your only family. Sometimes, tears were shed whenever you read it.
Other times you could only stare at the pages, waiting for the nightmare to end. Waiting for your mother to burst through the bedroom door saying that it was all over.
Though that time has still yet to come.