Personal Narrative: A Day In The Trailer

I can feel them. They step in the postern and every footstep they make leaves a broken bone behind. I can feel them, as they lift objects and open doors my insides churn and meander. If only they knew. I could, I would if I could, keep them here. Ambuscade them here like I was ambushed and trapped myself. Trapped, feeling them on the inside, cold on the outside. It seems like everyday a chill blows through my front left window, that one only, and only that one. It sends shivers up my spine like I’ve never felt before, until now. The window is broken, from childish schemes like eggs or toiletries being tossed specifically at me. If only they knew, they would be more careful. Yes, oh only if they knew! They come every year starting in September,

I am being driven slowly insane, no not insane. Intensified. I am being intensified and am left here to sit on my putrescence body and rot away with the boards and beams of this commorancy. The only way that I can be freed, if I ever am, is from another. Young, and willing to take the time to notice, like you. Notice my whimpers of pain and excruciation, the movement as my chest rises and falls with my breathing, and notice that the gate to my “exhibit” is open. If they venture in and unplug me, then and only then will I be freed. But there is a catch, there is always a catch. They have to be young and very healthy. They have to be willing to sacrifice their lives in the hope that somebody will free them, too. Someone like me, like you. I have a plan now, that I know will for sure work. And you will help

The placement of tubes into your eyes and ears will be quick, but harrowing. Halt your struggling, it will all be over soon.” Upon hearing this, your fist swings and delivers a harsh blow to my head, but I must finish what needs to be done. Through the clouded vision and the dizzy wobbling legs, I realise that the hard shock you delivered may stop me from finishing, but no. Determination is a must, and I plug in the final wire. Looking once over the tubes that used to be my burden, I smile. They no longer contain the blood flowing through me, but through you. I nod, and think to inform you of what is to happen. What once happened to me, and what will now be your ball and