Thursday, 22 June 2017

🔒The Hole

The floor is cold under my bare feet. Damp. I can't reach the string. The one that turns on the hanging bulb.
I hate The Hole. This is the closet where the sump pump is. Creepy.
The door is slated and they have me shut in. I can't see. I can hear. I know.
It's not my turn.
Three girls. Two boys.
The Hole is musty. I am sure there are spiders. The mouse trap always set. I don't move. 
It is summer out. We are in the basement.
I want out. I can't breathe. I am scared.
I don't want to play this game.
He stinks. He sticks his tongue in my mouth. His hurts.
I am not big enough to push him off me. He is older and stronger. I don't like him but it's not my idea. I am much younger, 5 plus years between them and I. I don't want to be here.
The Hole.
Out means my turn.


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