Secrets of the Misunderstood

 Suddenly, I hear a faint noise outside my door again—this time, more deliberate, like someone trying to listen or communicate. My heart races. I freeze, trying to listen carefully. Maybe it’s just my imagination, or maybe it’s someone else trying to avoid detection. I feel like I need to do something, but I also know that panicking won’t help. If I make a fuss or try to sneak out, I could get caught or worse. I stay still, clutching the edge of the bed, and wait. Whatever is happening, I realize I have to be cautious. I can’t trust that everything will be okay, and I definitely can’t trust what’s happening around me right now. I think about the things I’ve learned from living here—about keeping quiet, about blending in, about waiting for the right moment. I remind myself that I’ve gotten through tough days before, and I’ll get through this one too. I just need to stay calm and stay alert. I don’t know what’s coming next, but I do know I have to be ready for whatever it is.  T...

 The word search lies open on my lap, but my mind drifts. The shadows cast by the flickering ceiling light dance on the peeling paint, and I find myself lost in thoughts I’d rather forget. Suddenly, a faint knock echoes at the door. My heart skips a beat—a reflex I’ve learned to expect in this place. I stiffen, clutching the pencil in my hand as if it’s a lifeline. The door creaks open slowly, revealing Nurse Carter, a woman with tired eyes and a forced smile. “Hey, Scarlet,” she whispers softly, stepping inside. “How are you holding up?” I swallow hard, fighting back the tremors. “Same as usual,” I reply, voice trembling slightly. “Just trying to pass the time. ”She nods, her eyes scanning my face with a mixture of concern and exhaustion. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day… about the arts and crafts. It’s a shame they’re considering taking that away, too.” I glance away, biting my lip. “It’s not just a shame. It’s like they’re stripping us of everythin...

 "Come on, Scarlet, just one more stick, and you've got this finished." Before one of the evening nurses came barging into my room to let us know that dinner had arrived, the popsicle house was almost complete. It was Thursday, which usually meant it was either soup or chicken for dinner, accompanied by those dreadful dinner rolls and undercooked corn on the cob. I can't be too upset about it. We are getting fed, at least in this hellhole. It felt wrong to scarf down the chicken, but I skipped lunch because I wasn't in the mood for grilled cheese. Which is quite rare because I love grilled cheese. I finished the plate, left it on the table outside my room, and headed for the bathroom. There's no door, so I can't slam it shut from frustration and sadness, so I just have to endure the everlasting anxiety and despair like the rest of us who are forced to be here.  I turned on the faucet, immediately splashed my face with the cool water, and looked at myself i...