I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this. I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living in some extrav
Barricaded Prisoner After my attempted flight from the treacherous dungeon, I prepare for the berating that awaits for me at home. With extreme trepidation, I entered the vehicle, closing the door behind me. My heart sank as a sense of failure washed over me. I can only imagine what kind of security measures will be implemented, to ensure no incident like this ever happens again. It’s a dreadful thought that I may be trapped forever. Staring in the rear view mirror, I can see the betrayal on my fathers face. In his mind, he was the victim of my defamation. Certainly, the veracity of my story was in question, given my history of delinquency and defiance. I think the police believed my story was a mere baseless accusation in an attempt to gain attention, as this wasn’t their first encounter with me. My father locked eyes with mine, and I watched his lip curve slightly upward in a smiling fashion. My face turned red with fury as he smirked with pleasure at the humuliation of his own da