The chains had become her second skin, the bruises her shadow. By now, she barely knew what day it was, but the numbers in her head refused to die. Thirty-six. She whispered it under her breath. Thirty-six days in hell. Thirty-six days waiting for death to come or a miracle to arrive.
Day 36 – The Crack in the Cage
That morning, the bullies left the basement door unlocked. Maybe it was arrogance. Maybe it was a cruel trick. But to her, it was a crack of light in the suffocating dark. She lay on the floor, her body trembling, her breaths shallow, waiting for their footsteps to fade.
When silence settled, she pulled herself up, every muscle screaming in protest. The chain on her ankle had been loosened days before — they thought she was too weak to run. They thought she was broken.
Her fingers scraped against the lock until it clicked. The sound was thunder in her ears. She froze, heart pounding, but no footsteps came.
For the first time in thirty-six days, she pushed the door open and saw the night sky. It was not freedom — not yet — but it was enough to make her heart remember how to beat.
Barefoot, weak, and trembling, she stumbled into the shadows, the cool wind stinging her skin like needles.
Day 37 – Into the Night
Her body was a traitor, fragile and slow. Every step was agony, her feet torn open by stones, her lungs burning as if fire lived inside them. But she kept moving. Her whisper was constant: "Brother… I'm coming… I'm coming…"
The streets were empty, shadows stretching long under the moon. She turned corners blindly, her mind spinning, her body close to collapse.
That's when she saw it — a flicker of light in a small window. A house. A home. Hope.
She dragged herself across the yard, collapsing against the door. Her fists were too weak to knock, so she scratched at the wood until her nails split and bled.
"Please…" she croaked. "Please… help…"
The door creaked open. An old woman, frail yet sharp-eyed, stood in the doorway, her hand trembling on the knob.
"My God," the woman whispered, her eyes widening at the sight. "Child… what happened to you?"
And for the first time in over a month, the girl felt arms wrap around her, not to harm, but to hold.
---
Day 38 – The Old Woman's Kindness
The old woman pulled her inside, closing the door quickly. The warmth of the house was overwhelming — the smell of soup, the crackle of a small fire. It was another world.
She tried to speak, but words dissolved into sobs. The woman hushed her gently, laying her on the couch, covering her with a blanket.
"You're safe here," the old woman said, stroking her matted hair. "No one will hurt you here. Rest, child."
The girl closed her eyes and let the warmth soak into her bones. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, hot against her cold skin. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe the nightmare was over.
But nightmares don't end so easily.
---
Day 39 – The Wolves at the Door
The sound of laughter shattered the fragile peace.
She bolted upright, her heart slamming against her ribs. Through the thin curtains, she saw shadows moving — four of them, creeping across the yard. Her breath caught. They found me.
The old woman noticed the terror in her eyes and followed her gaze. She straightened, her frail body trembling but defiant.
"Stay here," she whispered, grabbing a heavy iron rod from beside the fireplace.
The door rattled. A voice sneered from outside.
"Open up, grandma. We know she's in there."
The old woman planted her feet, hands gripping the rod. "Leave this house," she barked, voice stronger than her years. "You'll not touch her again."
The door burst open. The boys stormed in, their faces twisted with cruelty. The girl screamed, but her voice was weak, swallowed by the chaos.
One of them lunged for her. The old woman swung the rod, striking him across the face. He staggered, cursing, blood spraying from his nose.
For a moment, hope sparked — maybe the old woman could fight them off. Maybe she could survive.
But then another boy shoved her hard. The rod clattered to the ground. She hit the floor with a sickening crack.
"No!" the girl cried, trying to crawl toward her.
The old woman gasped for air, her frail body broken, but her eyes locked on the girl's. She mouthed two words: Run. Now.
But there was nowhere left to run.
One of the boys lifted the iron rod and brought it down. Once. Twice. The old woman's cries faded into silence. Blood pooled around her head, staining the floor.
The girl's scream was raw, shattering, echoing through the house like a death bell.
---
Day 40 – Punishment
They dragged her back to the house of torment, her nails clawing at the floor, leaving streaks of blood. Her body was weak, but her soul screamed inside her chest.
The old woman's face haunted her — her kindness, her bravery, her sacrifice. She had died because of her.
When they locked the door behind them, the leader spat in her face.
"You thought you could escape? You thought anyone would save you?"
They chained her again, tighter than before.
The punishment was merciless. Beatings, burns, and cuts — each one delivered with glee. They branded her with the memory of failure. They wanted her to know that hope was a lie. That even good people who tried to help her would be destroyed.
Her body screamed. Her spirit flickered. But deep inside, a new fire kindled.
Not for herself. Not anymore.
For the old woman. For her brother. For every moment of horror.
If she could not survive, then someone had to make them bleed for what they had done.
And she knew only one person who could.
Brother… if you don't come soon, there will be nothing left of me to save.