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The wind howled through my locs like a curse snatching me with cold, bitter fingers as I ran through the woods. My chest burned, my lungs clawing for air, my heart hammering like it was trying to escape my ribs. Adrenaline hummed in my veins— raw, filthy, unwelcome — and I hated that it was the only thing keeping me from passing out and succumbing to defeat.
How the fuck did I let it come this far? This was not how it was supposed to go! I'd anticipated today— but not like this.
I never imagined I'd be sprinting— no. Limping with one fucking shoe like some deranged, half-dressed cryptid escaping a failed Tinder date turned cult initiation.
I wish I hadn't let my cousin rope me into one of his damned suicide missions as if we hadn't nearly died on the last one. And now I was running wild, hunted by a pack of horned goblins, who might I add, looked even uglier from afar than they were up close.
Their snarls chased me through the dark like debt collectors with claws— stubby green limbs pumping like gym bros on smelling salts and steroids— as if I'd stolen something sacred... or just interrupted them during an Alpha male podcast. Goblins were the final bosses of Misogyny and Incels, equal opportunity perverts— who didn't care if you were male female, a teapot, or genderfluid eldritch horror— if you had tits, ass, or a fuckable hole. They'd toss a Pokeball at you and call you bitchachu.
I dodged spiderwebs like a US president evading war crimes, accountability, and subpoenas, strung between tree limbs like bedsheets in nature's brothel... and that one fucking rock she planted just to ruin me— like it had a personal vendetta against my freedom.
Oh— I'm sorry! I didn't realize running for my life was a federal offense!?
And all this? This wild hunt, like I was sprinting for gold at the loser Olympics, running faster than an obese vampire on Ozempic and Celsius— because Floren, my cousin, my idiotic best friend, thought it'd be hilarious to steal back a moonstone bracelet he pawned on the black market.
As if black people didn't have enough stereotypes??
Sold it like it meant nothing, then grew a conscience— or maybe just realized he had free will. And somehow, somehow, he roped me in with that crooked little smile and promises of a quick job.
Back before dawn, he promised.
I should'veknew better. But he's family. He's my ride-or-die. I'd follow that idiot into a devil's maze barefoot if he asked.
The plan was stitched together with spit and delusion, technically solid:
Sneak into the Old Tavern. He couldn't go in alone—nineteen and baby-face, while I, the ancient one at twenty, was the golden ticket. He'd sneak into the bar, and all I had to do was flirt with the bouncer.
Who, by the way, was a giantess.
Gorgeous, but built like an Aphrodite's wrath— arms thick enough to fold me like a Rubik's cube and slice my spine with her fingernails.
She'd be the last thing I'd witnessed before my angel wings sprouted.
Still, I worked my faerie charm and tits. They always came in handy— distracted her just long enough. Slipped inside. Everything was smooth. Too smooth.
People were scared of bouncers, so all it took was a simple compliment, telling her I'd climb her if I could — I would. But Floren...that sneaky bastard was already halfway out the back while I played bait.
Two goblins bought me drinks at the bar, and before you judge me, one of them didn't look half bad in his glamour.
By half bad... I mean, he almost looked like someone you'd see in a magazine... for weirdly attractive older folks. And if I weren't half his age, and maybe less sober... I might've let him kiss me. Maybe...
But when he leaned in, hot, foul breath in my ear, calling me his "dirty slut" and I told him to back off– he took offense.
Gods forbid I say no to a man that is half my size and thinks deodorant is a government conspiracy.
Guess trash transcends all species.
Next thing I know, one of them grabs my wrist. Firm. Ugly. Possessive,
And look, Mama didn't raise a cunt.
And I'd throw hands before a male smacked my ass like my shit didn't come with a fucking warning and several lawsuits.
And yea— I slapped him back, backhand— so he knew what disgrace tasted like.
He was already wearing it anyway...
I clapped back— yeah. But now the fucker was snoring on the floor like a discounted demigod. Silly man, forget I had a strong arm and 30 missed calls from Hercules—But for real? The entire goblin frat squad was rolling up on me like I'd just insulted their entire bloodline.
And now? I'm running through a forest full of traps, teeth, and regret— all because my dumbass and my cousin's dumbass thought he could out-theif the black market.
They spotted him right after the scuffle— eyes locking like police dogs catching a whiff of illegal drugs.
Panic hit me square in the chest. So, naturally, I did what any half-functioning idiot with impulse issues would do—
I chucked a fistful of termite dust straight into one of their faces
Now, see... termite dust isn't just a wonderful distraction— in fact, it's so wonderful that when it gets under your skin— literally. It lingers, festers, burns, itches... makes u see your ex getting backshots in the middle of a choir chorus... terrible hallucinations I know— but in this case...
It made him berserk. Motherfucker thought I was the devil in heels— flattering except when it's spat in such a derogatory way I had to reset to subtitles in my brain.
I thought it'd buy us time. Maybe a minute, maybe ten.
But fate, the petty bitch she is, had other plans.
Because I forgot one MORE crucial detail:
Goblins— when they drop the glamour— are resistant to termite dust but for some fucking reason... he still thought I'd slaughtered his entire bloodline by rejecting him.
And me?
Standing there like an idiot with dust on my hands and no backup?
Bitch I ran.
Yeah. my black ass was utterly, spectacularly, fucked.
I escaped, screamed when one of them threw a fireball directly at my ass.
Bitch?!
Like? You couldn't aim anywhere else— why did it have to be My fucking cheeks?!
Floren said he'd swiped some portal ash— enough to get us out if things went south. But that fucker ran like a coward, he didn't say he'd abandon me like a deadbeat on his 3rd marriage.
Motherfucker said we'd be fine and ran like his ass was on fire.
He owed me so much after this. My sanity. My edges. My fucking shoes!
If the goblins didn't get to me first.
Fuck no.
I stumbled into a thicket, thorns grabbing at my thighs like horny geezers in a strip club, and stumbled upon a conveniently oversized boulder— nature was coming in clutch. Maybe the gods were finally starting to give a shit.
My heart pounded in my ribs, and I dove behind it. Lungs tight. Pulse loud. Breath shallow.
Chile...I was going through it.
Praying to any god with ears that they'd pass by.
Then I heard them.
Their fucking voices— gravel and grease, thick with greedy hunger and hate.
Talking 'bout a punishment and somewhere private.
Yeah...normally I don't run from fights. But hearing them threaten to rape me?
Bitch call me fucking Houdini. This wasn't a fight. This was a nightmare wearing goblin flesh.
More of them joined the cult I mean...hunt. Voices crowded the air, snarling, spitting obscenities, shoving through the trees like colonizers chasing a tax-free laborer.
My breath caught— then vanished— when a hand touched my shoulder.
Bitch I nearly shit my pants.
I almost gave myself away. But a palm covered my mouth, I thrashed, wrestled until—
"Relax, it's me. Come on."
Floren.
Thank the gods.
But he looked different now— his full fae form unmasked.
Wild, platinum blonde locs, crowning his head. Mahogany skin, white horns glinting like secrets... forest green eyes that used to feel like home.
Relief kissed my skin, fleeting and fragile.
Then—
"THERE!"
A goblin's voice split the air like a whip.
Bitch, this was not America, but we cursed,
"SHIT!"
And he yanked me by the arm as we bolted through the trees. Branches sliced across our arms like nature taking taxes. And we ran together— like the thieving rats we were born to be.
"Where's the portal ash?" I gasped, lungs heaving like they weren't mine, our hands locked tight as we ran.
"It was in my back pocket..."
"Then use it! What are you waiting for— a parade?"
His goat legs danced through the underbrush like we were on Ru Paul's drag race, not mid-fucking murder chase. I ran like I'd just eaten 3 burritos and the closest bathroom was 10 minutes away.
"What?"
He looked anywhere but at me. The guilty look like he was scared to admit he was full of shit.
Then... This fucker said, and I quote;
"I... I may have lost it."
I blinked.
Stared.
I almost crashed out. Willed the universe to smite him where he stood.
"We needed that!"
"I know!I know! I'm sorry!" he yelped, ducking behind a tree as we crouched low. Our backs pressed to bark, hearts drumming in unison.
"You're lucky I know someone nearby with portal ash," I hissed.
He lit up like I'd handed him salvation on a silver tray,
This goat man's stupid ass grin flashed through the dark.
Behind us, the goblins howled— vile, furious, insatiable. Their boots— bricks crashing on the earth— louder and louder like hellhounds on hunting day. They screamed obscenities in a tongue so nasty it made Orkish romantic.
"Come back here, you filthy whore!" one of them spat in goblin speak.
That one, I understood.
We broke into a sprint— toward the dock glinting ahead.
Our steps were loud, reckless, and soaked in adrenaline.
The rapists— sorry goblins... were close. Too close.
Before I could even think,
Floren yanked me beneath the dock planks— dragging me down into fucking lake water like an unwilling siren bride— it smelled like fish ass and old regret.
The water was so cold my tits filed in a complaint and called in a raincheck. Darkness swallowed us whole as we slipped beneath. I shivered— and then my soul took a screenshot when I heard their voices echoing above.
The goblins stumbled onto the dock like pervy uncles at a family reunion– unwanted. Creepy, disgusting.
Their boots thudded loudly, the creak of old wood betraying their every step. We sank deeper, letting the water cradle us in silence while they barked like angry raccoons on a sugar high.
"That thieving bastard stole my moonstone charm! It had real stardust!"
One of them cried, like an elderly pervert sneaking into a My Little Pony premiere.
"I'll sever his head, take his two-timing whore back to my crib."
Another growled, and Floren and I locked eyes like he hadn't just called us lovers and threatened assault.
This wasn't fucking Alabama. What was wrong with these goblins??
My heart thundered like it wanted to quit the team.
This wasn't fucking funny anymore. If they caught us... We were done. Like grilled steak scorched by hellfire. Ground meat in the forest, stained pages in someone else's cautionary tale
Then—
One of them leaned over the dock, eyes narrowing, squinting, sniffing the air like a vampire on withdrawal, smelling fresh blood.
Floren and I locked eyes. Panicked.
We slipped deeper...under, breath held, lungs cursing at us.
Their voices blurred into underwater murmurs, and I begged the gods.
But... after nearly drowning in fish piss and salt, they started to fade.
Disperse.
My lungs were on their last line, I was gonna pass out, but I still flipped them off in my head as we submerged from the water, gasping for air like a vocalist drowning in a sea choir— we could've died.
We could've fucking died...
"F-fuck! Jesus Christ?!"
I wheezed.
I knew goblins were violent, but what the hell?? This wasn't game of thrones! Whatever god wrote this side plot needed their title revoked.
"For real—" Floren coughed, sputtering like a wet dog. "I thought we were cooked!"
I shot him a glare so sharp– it could shave stone off a gargoyle.
"None of this would've happened if your bitchass didn't drag me into this dumbass heist! Bro, you are not Sherlock Holmes! You're black!"
"Bitch?? You agreed! You could've said no??"
He snapped back.
I sucked my teeth, climbing onto the dock, my clothes clinging like betrayal.
The breeze hit, and I flinched— soggy, cold. Pissed off.
Still, I helped him up, even though I wanted to throw him back into the lake.
"For a Satyr, you're barely taller than me," I muttered. "What are you, two inches of goat privilege?"
We stood there dripping, breathless, haunted. Then... after a breather, we started walking, dragging ourselves to Dakarai's potion shop like two mermaids bar-crawling in a swamp.
My feet were sore, my brain was worse
And somewhere between juggling my sanity and trudging through mud with Floren, the thought returned.
I still didn't know what I was. My mother— a faerie. My father— an angel. There was elf blood in her line, too, hence the pointy-ass ears.
Annoying reminders that something was supposed to happen to me. But genetics said nope.
I thought that one day I'd sprout wings or shift or light up like the rest of them. Instead? Just ears. No powers. No change. Just... me.
A Withered...
That word clung to me like mildew.
Magicless fae. The broken ones. The duds.
People spat it in amusement— said it was a kindness.
Sometimes they called me a "Fledgling."
Like I was still waiting for a miracle that everyone else had already given up on...
Maybe they were right.
Most fae came stamped fresh out of the womb like certified packages— marked up with some mystical sigil or ancestral BS that declared who they were and what kind of monster they'd turn into on full moons or midlife crises. We preferred mortal forms—less drama, less drooling,icognito less tail management— the gods did make it so we had some similarities, at least if humans invaded our lands, they wouldn't know what we were unless we shifted.
So the tattoos spoke like prophecies crawling against our skin.
Floren had a lily pad birthmark on his shoulder. Cute, right? Said "I'm a chill forest satyr who might headbutt you if provoked.
Faeries had constellations inked into their skin— sometimes on their back, sometimes behind their ear. You didn't always see it, but trust me, when you noticed, they made sure it was relevant. I remember catching Dad tracing the ones on Mom's collarbone. The rest I don't think I can say without a therapist and a lawyer present.
Faeries were like walking astrology charts, always ready to ruin your day with a Mercury-in-retrograde excuse. Like that one time Mom went on a girl's trip with Aunty Ayana and accidentally led some horny human males into a fairy circle and trapped them for flirting. Angels were easier. Most of them had crosses somewhere on their body— Dad had his on his chest. Real dramatic shit.
Cherubs were soft, harmless, weepy-eyed things. Messengers were more intense. Always looked like they were one coffee away from smiting someone at a coffee shop.
Humans hated them, scared shitless when they transformed. I suppose seeing a 20-foot floating orb with a billion eyes and 20 wings that fluttered like a death omen every time you blinked was terrifying.
But my dad? He was a Holy Judicator. Middle ranking, celestial authority, and blah, blah, blah, but in reality? He was just a big baby with wings and a heart that could melt iron.
He cried when watching Love Island, and romcoms like he didn't just get a summons from the gods to judge 13 souls and carry out divine justice for a grieving family days ago.
I remember when Mom said they shared their first kiss, he couldn't look her in the eye for 3 days— blushed so hard his halo short-circuited.
Then that same week? He got his intern job— sentenced a demon for spitting at a priest— he doesn't play about his family or humans— even though he openly hates humans.
But every fae had a telling, a symbol.
Trolls rocked their troll crosses as if they'd invented heavy metal. Werewolves got the deluxe treatment— phases of the moon tattooed across their spines, dramatic as hell.
Vampires had their sexy little ankhs. Demons? Either pentagrams, Luciferian sigils, or weird arcane scribbles, depending on their "class," like some hellish Hogwarts house sorting.
And me?
Nada.
No mark. No power. Just long-ass elf ears, and a lifetime subscription to magical impotence.
They called it "delayed transformation." I called it "cosmic cockblockery."
Fifteen years of being the magical equivalent of a toaster that wouldn't toast. My parents enrolled me in every power reformation school they could find— some of them sketchier than others. I lit candles. Made sacrifices. Cried in every temple known to the gods.
Nothing. Not a flicker. Not even a whisper or sparkle.
By twenty, I'd given up on ascending into anything other than a vaguely magical disappointment.
Even the gods seemed to ghost me. My prayers just got tossed into some celestial spam folder.
My parents stopped pretending, too. Stopped asking if I
"felt anything new today." Just handed me lunch and a pitying smile.
They'd probably revoke my black card if they knew what we'd gotten ourselves into today.
Floren and I stormed into Dakarai's potion shop like two gremlins fresh outta detention. The place smelled like warm sage, lavender, and very faintly of Cinderkush.
Shelves towered around us— potion vials, dried herbs, crystals that buzzed faintly like they were judging you.
"Raiiiii," I called, sing-song, spinning once on my heel like I hadn't just evaded death two seconds ago.
He looked up from the cloudy crystal ball he was polishing and grinned.
"Oh look who it is..." He said with a warm chuckle.
"Hey Rai... I need a favor," I said, all teeth and charm and just enough desperation to land it.
"Anything for my favorite customer," he said, that old familiar smirk curling his lips. Dakarai looked like Stevie Wonder, and a tree spirit had a baby— long white locs, kind brown eyes, laugh lines that spelled peace and potions, not pressure.
"I'm kinda low on portal ash..."
"Here," He said before I finished my broke-ass sentence, tossing me a pouch tied neatly with a white string like he'd been expecting me to beg.(Fair.)
"Damn— thank you, I swear I'll pay you back."
"Just say safe. Both of you," he said, side-glancing at Floren like he knew trouble traveled in pairs.
I ducked under the counter to hug him tight. His arms were always warm, like cinnamon tea and old protection spells. Then—
"Flore?"
I turned. My cousin was pale, jaw slack, frozen like an angel witnessing a goblin orgy.
And sure enough— there they were.
Two goblins.
Ugly pissed, and stomping toward us like we'd just keyed their car and fucked their mom. Their eyes were pure malice, glinting like wet coal dipped in blood.
"RUN!"
I screeched, grabbing Floren by the arm.
Glass shattered. Shelves toppled. One of them screamed, "YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!" as a knife whistled past our heads.
"Shitshitshitshit!" Floren yelped, galloping beside me like a goddamn deer, hooves clicking against concrete so elegantly while I looked like a fish out of the water with pointy ears.
I dug into the bag of portal ash with trembling hands, muttering a frantic spell under my breath like it would work better if I cussed more.
"Come on, come on, come on—"
Right as one of the goblins lunged, I flung the ash over us, like I was seasoning, a curse. The world exploded into light and dizziness. Our bodies warped into the portal, stretched and folded in on themselves like bad origami. My stomach flipped. My bones buzzed. I felt like a balloon being pulled through a kaleidoscope. Traveling by Portal Ash was always nauseating... but you got used to it after a while. Kinda.
Then—
THUMP.
We landed hard on the gravel just outside our home. I coughed, heaving like a mule forced to inhale his own feces.
Floren groaned. I rolled over and muttered, "I swear to every single deity that I am never doing that again. You owe me," I said, climbing to my feet.
He stretched like he hadn't just been chased by goblin bounty hunters.
"You gotta admit... that was fun."
"NEARLY DYING IS NOT FUN!" I snapped, wiping ash off my soaked shirt.
He just laughed. "Someone's cranky."
"Shut up, twig-thigh Mc-Heehaw."
"OKAY, Trauma adjacent."
I gasped,
"It's giving goat-legged twink."
I spat.
"And you're giving wish-dot-com sans pixie dust."
And damn him— he got me. That stupid inside joke. Lack of magic, half and half... a jab at my weird in-between-ness. Not quite fae. Not quite human. Somewhere in the magical bargain bin.
We walked through the garden, pushing the gate open, and laughing despite nearly biting the curb.
We pass the threshold of the house, and I am met with an unsettling silence as we walk into the hallway. It's usually never this quiet. Peaceful... like goblins hadn't just run us out of town with pitchforks.
"I'm going to bed," I muttered. "Wake me up when the apocalypse starts."
"You wanna watch some drag later?" he called.
"No... maybe? I don't—
"SCARLETT ADESSA THORNE!"
My blood iced. My legs turned to salt. My soul flinched.
That voice.
My father's voice rumbled down the staircase like divine wrath. The kind of tone that made hellhounds sit. Full name too. That was the sound of consequences unloading. That was his judgment day voice.
"Y-yes?" I squeaked.
"Upstairs. NOW."
I didn't dare look up the stairs yet. I turned slowly. Floren met my gaze, green eyes wide with pure panic.
"AND DON'T THINK YOU'RE OFF THE HOOK, FLOREN ADAJI GREENBURROW!"
Oh, we were fucked.
"Shit," we whispered together.
And trudged up the stairs like we were heading to our public executions. Because maybe we were.
***
"And you thought it was a good idea to steal back from a goblin because...?"
My father's voice was calm— too calm— the kind of calm that screamed I'm one wing twitch away from spontaneous combustion. He tapped his foot with the same rhythm he used when interrogating fugitives as a divine enforcer.
Now, we were the fugitives. Great.
He was carved like a myth: deep ochre eyes, brows thick enough to host a winter, golden skin that shimmered faintly, burnished coin. Intimidating if you didn't know he cried over romcoms.
My mother stood beside him, arms crossed, her long braids pinned into a bun— threaded with elegance. Those ethereal, eternally youthful fairie features. Forest green eyes, same as Auntie Ayana. Same as Floren. I had Dad's eyes— unfortunately.
I looked down at my feet like they'd grow roots and save me from this moment. Floren could take the heat for once. I'd carried us through the last three lectures and one spiritual cleansing.
"W-well," Floren stammered, "We—"
I stared at him, incredulous—
"We!?"We didn't speak French.
He rolled his eyes like a diva— accused of 37 homicides and 6 court orders, but still had time to give the judge sass.
"I... I made a mistake and wanted to stand up for myself. I was cheated. He paid me less for the moonstone bracelet! It had pure stardust, Uncle! I couldn't just let him take it!"
My dad pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were lecturing dogs on drinking toilet water.
"Do you realize how dangerous that was, Floren? You could've been killed!"
"Yeah, but we were—"
Kick.I stomped on his goat leg before he could say something reckless.
"Dad... we're sorry. We should've been more careful—"
"Damn right! I didn't raise no white baby, what were you thinking? This isn't Disney. What if the goblins snatched y'all? Do you realize how stupid y'all were?! I raised you to have some common sense, not... this."
"Uncle, please, can't you let us off just this once?" Floren tried. Brave. Stupid.
Dad's wings unfurled like a halo made of judgment, shadows dancing along the ceiling.
"NO."
We shrank. Even Mom looked nervous. That meant we were royally screwed.
"Dad... what's wrong?"
His eyes softened as he looked at me— then dropped into his armchair with a grunt, wings scrunched awkwardly behind him like he didn't know what to do with his own divinity anymore... I almost laughed—until I caught my mother's thousand-yard stare—as if she just realized she could tax me for living under her roof rent-free.
"We need to talk to you," she said, her voice a sigh made of glass.
"We've decided... you're transferring universities."
"What?" I sat up like she'd just announced that a Kraken was swimming laps in our backyard pool.
"You're not focused. You skip class. You need a job. And—" she hesitates,
"We just... don't trust you home all the time."
I wanted to scream— or cry, throw a tantrum, flip the damn couch. But this was a black household. So the closest I got to anything was staring at them like they'd just invited my ex over for Sunday dinner.
"Mom, you can't do that mid-semester! I love Mallow College! I have friends—"
"Yes, but last week you and Floren invited that human over— she almost fainted— do you know how hard it was for your father to wipe his memories, he vomited on the sofa!? Then that damn gorgon u dated?"
"Mom!!" I groaned, blushing like hellfire.
"That was one time—!"
"And let's not forget... after your little heist today, those goblins almost killed you!? Then last week, you were smoking Cinderkush??"
"That wasn't mine!"
(It was. It was definitely my Kush.)
"I liked Miriam..." I mumbled, like that'd fix it. Sweet, clingy, bisexual disaster Miriam. Her snakes loved me, sometimes purred against my ear whenever she nipped my lip— until she'd cheated on me with a sorcerer named July.
Mom looked at me like I'd told her Beyoncé was retiring.
"We just think... You need an environment where you can discover yourself."
"And stop making the house a fae circus," Dad added.
"You can't just uproot me every time I mess up!"
I shouted.
"I'm working on it—!"
"Working on what? Hookups and smoking? Flunking midterms and spells you can't even cast?" Mom spat before she could stop herself.
She flinched. Too late.
The words sliced clean.
She didn't need to finish.I already knew...
I was a withered freak with elf ears, no magic, and ancestors probably considering leaving me out of the ancestral will.
"I know what you meant."
My voice cracked like autumn leaves— withered, brittle, and ready to fall.
Floren stepped forward, panic lacing his voice.
"You can't send her away! That's not fair—!"
"It's final," Dad said. A god's decree.
I could feel a storm brewing in my chest, tears lingering a curse stitched tight into broken promises.
"So that's it? You're just gonna ship me off like an Amazon return?"
My aunt interrupted as if one punishment wasn't enough.
"Floren, don't think you're off the hook. You've been enrolled in herbology and medicine."
The blood drained from his face.
"WHAT? Mom, no. You know I want to be a mage guard—!"
"You should've thought of that before bartering with forest goblins!"
He swore under his breath. I squeezed his hand. We were both being clipped like wild wings.
"We only want what's best," Mom said, her voice soft but hollow.
Dad stood. "You need to grow up. This is the only way."
As if this were a decreed law.
"I'm not one of your clients."
I hissed, and before he could scold me, Mother's eyes narrowed— sharp like I'd just broken an heirloom.
"Don't talk to your father like that..."
I avoided her gaze, rage simmering beneath the obedience.
Aunt Ayana nodded. "We just want you to wake up. Stop throwing your life away."
I laughed— dry, bitter, burned at the edges.
"No. You just wanted to get rid of me. Admit it. You're ashamed. I'm not the child you expected. I'm not magical enough for your shiny family portrait."
"No one said that."
"Right," I snapped, "But you're all thinking it!"
I rose. The carpet felt like needles beneath my feet. The air smelled like judgment. I left before they could see me cry.
"Where are you going!?"
My father barked.
"Away."
I slammed the door loud enough that it ricocheted and vibrated throughout my body, so they would know this was just another shackle along with all my failures.