Grace Through Every Trial

The Creature

When we begin our lives, we also begin our learning. Our teachers are the people and circumstances of our lives. They show and tell us the things we need to know so we may survive each day. One lesson I began to learn when I was very young was how to defend myself. My teacher was my enemy. He gave no mercy and had no love. With his cruelty, he taught me to protect myself. My heart was the one thing I gave all my strength to guarding. Without it, there was no existence, yet within it, there were dark secrets that were slowly destroying me. I had convinced myself the best way to keep it safe was never again to allow any one in it and never share anything from it. I chained and caged my heart in the darkest dungeons of my memories. There it would constantly be reminded of the danger it had once created when it was permitted freely to speak and roam with the hearts of others. I thought I had finally won the battle; I thought my teacher had lost. However, I was wrong, and I did not see until it was too late. He held his victory flag high, as he watched me win the battle for him. In my ignorance, I believed I had built a mighty fortress he could not enter. But in reality, I had given him free passage through the wide gate I had opened. He proudly led his soldiers of destruction in so I could be overtaken. They took me by surprise and threw me into the dungeon of fear and chained me with guilt. They fed me my daily portion of hate and distrust, and I gradually began to change into what they wanted: a monster. When I realized it was entirely my fault I was there, I loathed myself more than any one. And even though I was still alive, any chance of escape seemed hopeless. It was as if my teacher had already won and was victoriously laughing in my face. He drew his greatest pleasure in watching me suffer because of my own willful lack of intelligence. I found myself wishing for the day of his ultimate victory. He was truly the most powerful and malicious enemy I had ever known; there was no possibility I could conquer him. My only hope was that my teacher, death, would rush his execution, so he could end my misery by accomplishing his triumph.

Another great enemy I would have destroyed - if I had the power - was…winter. It was cold, heartless, and almost lifeless. It helped death in his battle against all life. It disguised him in the beauty of its pure, white cloak and then swept over the earth freezing, destroying, and bringing darkness that covered all. With its breath, it frosted glass and froze water, and with its long, icy fingers, it helped take the lives of many. Its chilling presence, which some mistook as a scene of magnificent splendor, left behind only the horror of cold, terrifying corpses, with frozen expressions, and the tear-filled eyes and crying sobs of their loved ones. But as much as I criticize, I cannot deny the cold reflection of my feelings in its bitter appearance. I hated life, especially mine, just as much as it seemed winter did. Each year, I pleaded for it to kill me, but each year, it passed me by, allowing me to survive. It mocked my weakness and fear by taking others and then dissolving into spring and leaving me behind. If I had possessed its strength, I would probably have taken my own life, but I could not overcome my fear.

In my darkness, I insisted on torturing myself. I gave the power to live to a small enemy I could have destroyed. He was only made of wood and strings and would sit in a corner, quietly waiting for me, because he did not have the strength to come to me by himself. He was my own violin. At night, I would gently stroke the bow across the strings, releasing a cold, piercing melody. It was as a blade stabbing within me. With each note, it penetrated an old wound, making it deeper than before and causing more pain than before. It freed old memories, once again inflicting agony and absolute misery. Nevertheless, I would continue to play, as each tear escaped to drop onto the floor. Why did I continue to play? Why did all my memories haunt me? For yet another moment, I imagined things as they were, escaping my torment. Shadows of days that time had stolen from me once again danced before me, creating a sweetening, saddened cry within me. If only those days would return.

It was only when night had fallen that I dared to crawl down the abandoned streets, and there in the darkness of the midnight, the moon alone would be cursed to gaze upon the malnourished, frightening, skeleton-like figure I had somehow become. I wandered the empty alleys, searching for any sort of food or drink that would sustain me for one more day. My pale skin seemed to have a florescent glow in the soft light of the lonely moon. I felt as if the stars were laughing, as they appeared to be watching me wither a little more each night. I was even embarrassed to show my sickly self to such a far, distant audience. You would not have been able to tell I was human if you had seen me devouring the rotten garbage or lapping up the mucky water from the streets. No pity or love could be found for such a disgusting creature, not even enough to rid it of its miserable existence. I should have starved myself and done myself the favor, but hunger hurt too badly. Death began to look friendlier than life, and I started to hope for it more each day. It seemed as if my friend, life, became my enemy, and my enemy, death, became my deliverer.

It was one dimly lit night that I wandered unseen by most but not all mankind. Three men miraculously took notice of my indistinguishable form in the shadows. They were all dressed in fine, expensive suits that would make anyone stare, while I, only covered by filthy, torn rags, was not fit even to spit upon.

What is that thing? One of them pointed.

Another one stepped closer. It is a…girl! He gasped and stared in horror and unbelief.

The last one, who did not appear interested in the others’ discovery, stood annoyed, tossing his red apple up in the air and catching it again as it fell. I could not force myself to stop staring at it. It was so big, and it looked so juicy. In my wonderful imagination, I had already enjoyed and consumed every tiny bite of it.

She is staring at your apple, the first one noticed.

The man suddenly became interested in the situation, no doubt, looking for some amusement in his extreme boredom. Want it? he offered holding it out to me. But as I reached for it, he pulled it back to himself, lifting it to his mouth. He looked at my disappointed expression and smiled with satisfaction as he took a large bite. He chewed it for a moment and then spit it out in front of me. I had no sense of pride or dignity; I only had hunger. So, in desperation, I licked it up from the ground. Even with my revolting behavior, I had shown more manners than the beast who stood before me, laughing in his arrogant pleasure. I was tempted to use whatever force necessary to rip the rest of the apple from his hand, but even in my anger, I was not ignorant of my weakness. I would not have had the strength to fulfill my wishes, no matter how hard I tried.

That is no girl! The man with the apple laughed. It is just a stray dog. He was extremely proud of his cruel demonstration that had revealed my true nature or instincts, whichever you prefer to use.

I growled as he and his heartless friend walked by laughing. I knew I was proving his claim of me was correct, but at that moment, I did not see a point in caring. I displayed my most horrifying, animal-like behavior and hoped it would give them nightmares later. I turned to see the man who was kind enough to identify me with my original species still staring in unbelief.

Poor child, he finally spoke. His words hurt my ears, for I had not heard the sound of sympathy in a long time. What has driven you to this existence? His eyes did not show disdain nor his actions hate. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple wrapped in a clean, white cloth. This one was more appealing than the one I had seen before. It was much larger and cleaner. Or maybe that was just my imagination, trying to make me feel better. Whatever the case, this apple had not been pre-chewed. He sat both the cloth and the apple on the ground in front of me. I did not care if he had only given it to me to mock the way I ate; I enjoyed every fresh, juicy bite. Sadly, the pleasure only lasted for a few minutes before the entire fruit had been devoured.

I’m a doctor, he kept his voice low; I can help you. He stepped closer, but I only jumped back, keeping the same distance between us. Then, he knelt down and held out his hand to me. I studied his expression, trying to understand, trying to uncover his true intentions. I crawled closer and sniffed of his hand like some kind of dog. I was very cautious. If he made any sudden movements, I would dash back into the shadows. However, he remained still, just as if he had become stone. I growled and hissed at him just to see his reaction. I acted more like a deranged cat than any part human. The only human quality I possessed was my looks, and even that was distorted to look more beast than girl. I had stayed away from people so long I had forgotten how to react to compassion. I was confused and uncomfortable. So with one last look into his caring eyes, I ran back into the darkness.

Wait! he called from behind me. I only want to help you! His voice echoed through the alleys but soon faded into the lonely silence I had somehow become used to. However, his words still repeated over and over in my mind, and my heart ached inside of me. I ran away from the freedom he had offered me only to return to these horrid, dark streets.

I curled into my corner in the basement of some trashy building where I had managed to linger on hoping death would soon spare me from surviving the next day. I rocked myself back and forth, staring blankly at the small shimmer of the moon’s glow that had sneaked in through the basement’s tiny window and spilled upon the floor. Then my gaze strayed to the next corner across the room. There sitting quietly leaned against the wall just waiting to sing its piercing melody was my violin.

Not tonight, I quickly turned my head. I will not think on old times, not tonight, only ahead…someone still cares, I told myself in my thoughts, someone still cares. I closed my eyes tightly and continued rocking myself until finally sleep captured me and threw me into my continual nightmare:

I am running. It is dark. The air is thick with moisture and the taste of blood. I cannot breathe. I fall to my knees. I begin gasping for air. In desperation, I manage to drag myself down the street. I come upon an old, ruined house. I pull myself through an open window and collapse upon the floor. I am paralyzed from the sight of three familiar bodies lying dead beside me. They seem to be staring at me, pleading for me. I can hear their voices calling me to join them, but I force myself to turn away. Then, I change my mind. I will go with them, but when I turn around, they have vanished. I begin to cry as I listen to their distant laughter. I am hushed by a ghost-like figure holding a bright candle. She lowers the light to reveal her disfigured appearance; she is…me. Eerie screams pierce my ears. I cover them, but it does not stop the sound. A tear escapes her eye and puts out the light. I cannot see; all around me turns black. Then, one final cry silences everything, Help!

My eyes opened leaving behind one nightmare and entering another, one I could not escape. Yes, I was tremendously happy to awake from my dream but terribly disappointed to be back in reality. If only there was a place between the two, I would much rather stay there. The sun had already risen by the time I awoke, and even though the tiny bit of light that filled the room burned my eyes, I continued to stare at it. I hugged myself tightly and began to rock myself again trying to ease my pain from hunger. As much as I wanted to, I could not show myself in the light. I would frighten every person whose eyes were cursed to see me; my appearance was hardly charming. My hands, knees, and feet were all blistered and bloody from crawling on the dirty, cold streets. My long hair was stringy, matted, and stuck together with mud and filth. I cannot describe my face for no words could describe how horrifying it truly was. I must have been the ugliest creature ever to exist on this earth; I was not fit for a rat to look upon. Even the thought of going out in the light seemed to fill the empty basement with unforgettable memories. The foggy images and figures started to become clear once more, and distant whispers began to crescendo into thunderous voices yet again. There were children crying, women screaming sometimes fainting, and then there was the sound that hurt to hear…the laughter. There was no pity, no care. I could never enter the light again. The only kindness I had ever found was in darkness.

I stayed there, in my corner, until night had cloaked the earth and made me nothing more than a shady figure. Then in my disguise of darkness, I dared once again to touch my sore hands and knees to the stony, unwelcoming streets. I searched for food but found very little, as usual. My hunger still pained me when I had decided to head back to my basement, but instead of going right away, I lingered on the streets for just a while longer. I gazed up at the moon. Have mercy, I pleaded inside for I was not brave enough to speak aloud. Do not let me die, tears began to fall to the ground, without at least letting me live. I knew my plea would neither touch anyone’s ears nor enter anyone’s heart. It was useless and ridiculous. It would be better for me if I died quickly so I would not cry to live any longer.

Days passed, and my normal routine continued. My appearance did not improve. However, if it were possible, it might have gotten worse. I persistently ignored my almost equally persistent desire to play my violin, and it stayed in its solitary corner. I was confused. At times, I would cry to be spared from surviving another day. And at other times, I would beg to live. I guess anything was better than my current day to day illusion of existence. I knew I was not dead, yet I did not feel alive either. What exactly was I?

Memories

My hands gripped the stony wall of my basement. I used all my strength, if I had any, to pull myself to my feet. I had been attempting to walk for several days but had not experienced any success. I am going to this time! A small flicker of confidence and determination sparked within me. My knees shook for they were too weak to hold up my frail, pathetic body. My legs felt like they were made of noodles and string instead of bones and muscle. So, I used the little bit of strength I possessed in my arms, which seemed to be more than was in my legs, to keep me standing. I stood for maybe a minute before collapsing. Tears began to fall once again. It is no use; I will never walk, never! Why do I torture myself with false hope and futile attempts? I will die on my hands and knees! A mighty wave of discouragement swept over me, putting out my tiny light of confidence. I did not stay conscious for long, for I had wasted all my energy. All I was able to do was take shallow breaths and sleep.

Another day had passed, and I had gained a little of my strength back. I would not try to walk again; it was a poor use of my time. Instead, I would torment myself in another way. I tried to resist, but all the sorrow inside me was begging to be released. So, I reached for it, my violin. I could already hear the saddening melody flowing through my every thought and memory, but it had not yet pierced my ears. I closed my eyes as I lifted it to my chin and softly pulled the bow across the strings. Even though there was only one instrument playing, I could hear an entire orchestra echoing in my small basement. My arms were tired and wanted to stop, but my sorrow had not yet expressed itself in its full bloom. Sometimes my sadness was like a rose. If you look at it from a distance, it seems magnificently beautiful; however if you were to grab hold of it to take it with you, you could not escape the pain of each of its thorns. My memories looked beautiful, but when I tried to take them with me, they only caused me grief.

The pain stabbed deeply. Tears began to fall as fast as rain. But still, I continued to play. Great sobs seemed to almost blend with the music. Then, I saw it all over again:

There are tables of exquisite food and a room filled with people laughing and talking. There are ladies dressed in their brilliant apparel of silk gloves, shimmering jewelry, and velvet dresses decorated with the most elegant lace. There are also men dressed in their finest black tuxedos. But then, silence fills the room, and all eyes turn to stare at the girl walking down the steps. Her long, brown curls are pulled back and tied in a black bow accented with little red flowers. Her long, velvet dress is a deep crimson with the most excellent black lace attached to the hem and at the end of the sleeves. Her gentle, flawless face is her most stunning beauty. She has gorgeous, brown eyes and elegant, long eyelashes. She has a small, round nose; lightly pinked cheeks; and, of course, a breathtaking, bright smile. There I was all eyes upon me. I was only six then. It was my first Christmas after my papa had been promoted to captain; it was wonderful. I was somewhat of an amusement at the party as I tried my best to be as mature and intelligent as all the other ladies there. That was fifteen years ago before the poverty and shame banished me from all happiness forever.

Finally, I broke free, and my instrument dropped to the floor. My trembling, boney hands caught the remaining of my tears. The memories soon faded into darkness like a giant butterfly fluttering slowly out of sight. So many times, how I had wished I was a butterfly spreading my elegant, colorful wigs. I could catch the cool, soft breeze and then, like a small piece of silk, gently drift away, far away.

I loathed my pathetic existence, but I felt like there was nothing I could do to change it. Every day and every night were almost exactly the same. All my thoughts, memories, and dreams were identical to the ones before. Even my struggles and pains of survival were predictable and expected. Yet, this had been my condition for the last eleven years of my existence until recently. I had a small light of hope because I met someone who actually cared. However, the light was fading rapidly. I would soon return to my routine way of living, or should I say, of dying.

All the hate for my past existence, fear of returning to it, and pain of knowing I would, built up quickly inside of me causing every emotion and every ounce of energy to reach its absolute peak. So, finally, in a desperate attempt to release it all, I rose faster than ever before to my feet and took five bold steps before falling flat on the floor again. I know this was a very pathetic way of freeing my anger, but it had somehow managed to make me feel somewhat accomplished. It was also something a normal human being would have experienced quite a lot in one day, but for me, it had become something amazingly incredible. However, there, of course, had to be a down side; I was in an enormous amount of pain. This was a rather large price to pay only to have suffered through a few steps; nonetheless, I still was filled with joy and felt better than ever…on the inside that is. I started crying for I could no longer move, and I laid there completely helpless until morning.

Sometime during the night, I had managed to fall asleep. So when I finally awoke, the first thing I saw was the ceiling. It was almost as dirty as the floor with filth and cobwebs hanging from it like decorations. I waved my hand to shoo a fly from my face. I may smell dead, look dead, and sometimes even act dead, but for some unknown explanation, I, this corpse-like creature, still had some life left in me. My existence was as insignificant as that owned by the tiny, annoying, buzzing fly that, if it was fortunate, would only live three to four days. I pitied that fly, but at the same time and for the same reason, I envied it. He only had to suffer for a small amount of time while I lingered on and on waiting for the time when I would be spared from the next moment.

Suddenly from above me, I heard…footsteps! I scampered over to my corner and curled up tightly hoping whoever it was would leave, but the sound echoed like a beating drum continuing on and on, getting louder and louder. Then, voices joined the terror; they seemed to be talking about the building’s structure. I crawled to the middle of the basement so I could hear them better. They rambled incessantly with no sign of stopping. Obviously, one of the men wanted to buy my broken down, dirty place of refuge; whereas, the other one was explaining business and price, something that sounded more like a foreign language to me. Then, one of the men began to stomp brutally on the floor above me. It’s somewhere around here, I think, the sound of his words made my thoughts run in circles. What was he doing? Aha! he exclaimed victoriously when he hit my basement door. Light blinded me as the squeaky door swung open. I began to stumble around frantically searching for a hiding place.

Something is down there! one of them spoke out trembling with fear.

It looks like some kind of monster! the other one attempted to distinguish my species with no success. Of course, I could not blame him. It was not his fault he did not know one of his own kind could look so different, so dead.

My eyes finally adjusted to the light. I could see more plainly the two figures standing at the top of the stairs looking down at me. For a moment, I was still, but my heart raced so fast within me that if I did not move soon, it would escape from me. So, I dashed up the stairs and pushed my way through the two men. My hands and knees touched the warm stones of the road and continued to flee. There were people everywhere. Horrid screams echoed in my ears. And then, I stopped for some reason. I saw little girls clinging to their mothers, and for just a second, I pretended I was looking out of younger eyes. I gazed up at a smiling, kind face…my mother. My tiny hands held tightly to her plain, black dress. Her eyes were filled with compassion and tears. Her soft hand reached down to wipe away the drops of sorrow that had escaped from my eyes. Everything will be fine, she promised, but those words meant nothing to me now. They seemed empty and worthless.

All of a sudden, something hit me from behind bringing me back to my sad reality. The object was small, but my frail structure felt pain whenever anything even touched me at all. Thus, this minute thing, that most people would not even have noticed, inflicted such intense pain on me it brought burning tears to my eyes. I had become my worst fear…a joke, some kind of object of sport for the average cruel, coldhearted schoolboy. I could not have told you which hurt worse, the raining of small stones or the flooding of laughter. I struggled just to crawl. In a moment, I thought, I shall escape this life, if you can call it that. A more fitting name would have been existence, and then enter into the vast, peaceful blackness of eternal sleep. Finally, I collapsed. I could no longer go on. The spot on which I laid would soon become my deathbed, my place of resting.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the laughing and proceeded to place words in everyone’s ears that would cause them to open their eyes. Stop! he thundered. Can you not see this girl is hurting? It was at that moment they finally realized I was human or, at least, I was at one time. I was not some beast without feeling made of rock and leather. No, I was one of their own kind, flesh and blood! They had never even imagined such a thing as me could still have life left. I was the true picture of the living dead. I do not think you could have found anything else that looked like me, except maybe in a coffin or a graveyard.

I was so close, just one second away, but that voice had to ruin everything. I could have been freed! Yet, I was thankful for some strange reason. But, why?! He had not rescued me; he had done me no favor! I watched as the man walked closer. His face brought back hidden memories I had been trying to forget so I would not try to lengthen my wretched existence. He was the doctor who had tried to save me nearly a month ago! I felt two strong arms lift me from off the ground. Whispering filled the air criticizing me and him, but when I looked up at him, he did not seem to be affected by their cruel accusations. All at once, I became overwhelmed with weakness and passed out.

I awoke in a small, fluffy bed. The doctor was sitting beside me. He held my wrist with his left hand his thumb pressed lightly in the center. In his right hand, He held a small pocket watch which he stared at intently. Once he had shut his watch and placed my hand back at my side, he leaned over and studied my eyes.

Paul! a lady’s voice called from the doorway causing the doctor to spin around. You will scare that poor child to death leaning over her like some beastly vulture.

The woman came in and placed a tray beside my bed on the lamp stand. She was tall and very plain wearing a simple tan dress. Her dark brown hair was tied in a tight bun with a few small curls escaping around her ears. Her face was the perfect shape, not too round and not too thin. Her blue eyes were dark yet kind, and she had a bright, wide smile.

The doctor was also tall. His hair was not a particular color; it was more of a mixture of different shades. At the front, it was light brown with a few strands of bright blond and strawberry blond, but toward the back, it got darker with some deep red, dark brown, and even a little black. I had never seen hair so colorful! It was slightly curly but mostly just wavy. It probably went down to his shoulders. I couldn’t really tell for sure for he had it loosely tied back. He had deep, sea blue eyes. He looked to be strong but had a gentle, caring smile. He wore a silk, white shirt with a dark, velvet red vest and a nice pair of black pants.

As I looked down at myself, I noticed I was dressed in a warm, white gown. It had poofy sleeves and a bit of lace around the collar and cuffs. I took my long, bony fingers and touched the end of my hair. It was practically gone! It had been cut all the way up to my ears! Oh, well, I thought. It did not look much like hair when it was there anyway.

I know it’s short, the woman spoke softly to me, but at least it is clean. And, I’m sure it will grow back. I did not speak back. This place was new to me, and I was frightened of everything.

She offered me a spoon to eat the soup on the tray, but I was not accustomed to such fine utensils. It had been so long since I had used any I had practically forgotten how. So with no hesitation, I grabbed the bowl instead. I slurped it up like a dog, making quite a mess and a horribly disgusting sound. I must have been a wretched sight! As if my looks were not enough to sicken anyone, my actions only made it even more evident what a beastly creature I truly was. I looked up after I had finished and saw them both staring at me. I could tell they were criticizing me in their thoughts. Embarrassed and ashamed, I ripped the covers away from me and stumbled out of the bed and onto the floor. I quickly scampered over to the nearest corner and buried my face behind my knees.

Paul came over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. We did not mean to hurt you, I’m sorry, he said softly. He had probably seen the tears I had tried desperately to hide. I stayed silent acting as if he had not even spoken to me. Come now, you are too weak to be up from your bed. You need your rest so you can get better, he attempted to convince me. I growled as if at any moment I would jump from my present position and attack him.

Here, let me see what I can do with her, the woman walked over to him and patted his shoulder; You go and tend to something else. Paul rose and left the room disappointed, and she came and sat down beside me. My name is Gloria, she spoke gently. What is yours? I did not raise my head to look at her nor did I answer her question. My brother loves to help people, but sometimes he has a hard time realizing not all people want his help, she paused for a moment. I think you have enough strength to return to your bed on your own. She then got up and left the room shutting the door behind her.

I looked over to my bed but continued to stay where I was. My eyes strayed to the foggy window; it was now beginning to get dark. I crawled over to it and stared at the streets below. Children were running to their homes trying to beat the quickly fading light. My thoughts once again became lost in memories. I was suffocated in misery and sorrow as I saw myself enter back into the nightmare:

I crept into the dimly lit room where my mother quietly hummed a haunting lullaby as she rocked my baby brother in her arms. I could feel something was different. I knew something was horribly wrong. But, I proceeded to creep closer. Her eyes did not turn to look at me; she just continued to stare blankly at the wall before her as she rocked back and forth. I stood at her side as I gazed upon my brother. He seemed frozen and did not move. His skin was as pale as snow, and when I touched him, he felt like…winter.

Mama, my voice cracked and my eyes filled with tears, what is wrong with Peter? Why does he look like Papa did?

She did not look at me, but I saw a tear escape her eye as she softly whispered, Your brother is fine now. She began to hum again as I stood with tears running down my face.

Mama? my words shook as I grabbed her sleeve. She finally turned to me, but her gentle smile gave me little comfort.

Go to bed, my sweet child, everything will look brighter with the light of morning, she lovingly sent me away. I ran to my room and fell on the bed. I tightly hugged my pillow and soaked it with tears as I looked outside the window at the white flakes falling from the cold, black sky. Peter was gone just like Papa. No amount of happiness could ever wash away such pain. I did not sleep that night but instead listened as my mother’s quiet, haunting lullaby turned into loud, unforgettable cries.

My thoughts returned to the present as the last child disappeared from the street. I crawled under the warm covers and slept until morning.

The Healing

I awoke confused and scared not remembering what had taken place the day before. But in a moment, it all came back to me as, with no warning, Paul entered the room. He was carrying a tray which he laid on the small table at my bedside. On this tray, there was a tall, black bottle, a cup of juice, a plate of scrambled eggs, and a big, beautiful biscuit! Paul picked up a large spoon from the tray and opened the black bottle.

This is going to help you gain back your health, he smiled as he slowly poured the oozy, black substance on the spoon. It reminded me of the dirty, muddy water that sometimes flooded the streets and the alleys. He then held it up to me and proceeded to feed it to me! I had thought I was the only one who drank such disgusting things; of course, I only did so to survive. I certainly did not think it would improve my well-being! I did not imagine the things that could help me get better actually looked exactly like the things that made me ill!

Well, I thought, it couldn’t be any worse than some of the things I have eaten. So, I opened my mouth and allowed Paul to give it to me. How could I have been so wrong!? It seemed to stick to my throat like thick syrup and tasted worse than any rotten food I had ever consumed! I started coughing uncontrollably. Paul, probably worried I would die of his supposed cure, quickly handed me the glass of juice. I took gulp after gulp of it as I tried to wash the horrible taste away, but sadly, nothing worked.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging that came from outside my room, and shortly after that, Gloria entered. Paul, she said quietly, some men are here to see you. They both had to leave, of course, and I was left alone. My eyes slowly strayed to the tray beside me, in particularly the golden biscuit that sat on it. My heart seemed to dance as I picked it up and held it in my hands. For a moment, I just stared at it; however in an instant, it was completely gone. I had devoured it. Just as I had finished, the door to my room came flying open, and two men barged in with Paul, who had no doubt been trying to block their path, directly behind them. He seemed a little weak compared to both of them. They probably just shoved him out of their way and disregarded his protests or any threats he may have made. Their faces were without a doubt familiar and were definitely men I had tried to forget. Their laughter filled the room and echoed in my memories. Paul attempted to stop them. But, all his efforts were in vain and of no avail. They were not going to leave until they fulfilled their purpose in coming: to bask in their elevation by ridiculing me in my low status.

You should put that thing in a circus show! At least that way you could actually make a profit instead of draining and wasting the small amount of money you do have, one of them teased harshly. His words were cold