"Mother, where are we going?"
"Mother's taking you to a happy place. So be on your very best behavior, alright?"
"Okay!!"
She smiled—wide, innocent, hopeful—and grabbed her mother's hand tightly.
Hand in hand, they walked down a narrow alley drenched in blinding daylight, shadows twisting at their heels.
Naomi looked up. The sky was blue, but ugly wires crisscrossed above her like black veins.
Still, she smiled.
(Mother is so kind... bringing me to a happy place... just us... together...)
But then—
(...Mother?)
Her hand slipped away.
"Naomi," her mother whispered sweetly, "this kind man will take you to a wonderful place."
"Wah! Really!?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
"...Will you come too, Mother?"
A pause.
A smile.
"No. After you're done having fun... Mother will come fetch you, okay?"
She turned around.
And walked away.
No goodbye. No glance back.
Only silence.
Time shattered.
Seconds.
"Mister, why aren't you wearing pants? Haha!"
Minutes.
"Naomi... do you love me?"
Hours.
Years.
The door never opened.
No one came.
Not even her shadow.
At night, Naomi gnawed through the rope that burned her wrists—
metallic-tasting, soaked in filth and blood—
until her arms were free.
She stumbled across the room, breath shaking, and grabbed a small, solid gold chest from beside the bed.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
The mister didn't scream.
Not after the first hit.
His bed was soaked. His face... a splatter of red and bone. One eye dangled like a bulb ripped from a socket.
Naomi stood over the corpse, panting.
Then she laughed.
A sharp, broken laugh—rising, cracking, spinning out of control—
until she collapsed, head back, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers to the universe.
Then she ran.
Out the window. Into the street. Past the filth. Past the screams.
She ran faster than she ever thought possible.
Her feet didn't feel the ground anymore.
She didn't notice how tall she'd grown.
It had been five years.
She reached a clearing.
Vast. Quiet. Green. The sky—empty this time. No wires. No lies.
And in the center stood a tree.
She walked to it, dragging the same rope she'd once chewed through with her teeth.
Bits of it still smelled like the mister.
Naomi stared up.
"...Mother never came to fetch me."
She paused. Head twitching.
"Father... used to teach me knots... before he left..."
She climbed the tree, step by trembling step.
Tied a perfect knot around a thick, high branch.
Another around her throat.
Tight.
"...I did it, Father..."
The wind was quiet. Too quiet.
Tears slipped down her face. Her legs shook. Her mouth opened to scream—but nothing came out.
And then—
She let go.
The rope snapped taut.
Her feet kicked the air.
Her body twisted, fighting instinct.
Her lungs begged.
The sky blurred.
Naomi struggled.
Gasped.
Clawed.
And smiled.
(I hate you, Mother.)
(I've missed you, Father.)