Post by Marree on Apr 13, 2015 16:22:30 GMT -8
My name is Deja Hatcher. I'm twelve years old, five foot tall and I'm a prisoner in my own body.
I was always that cute, little girl with the flaming red hair that would more often than not be the one to observe the conversation rather than join in. I was happy with my life. I loved everything about it, especially something that my mom and I started when I was young. You see, she loved to collect dolls. She'd make them out of anything we could find. It was always simple projects when I was a little kid but as I grew it became more; statues of them and display dolls. The posable ones, yes -posable, is the ones my mom liked the best. My dad let her do whatever she wanted with them and kept her supplied with as many as she wanted to collect. He would do anything to keep her happy.
My dream though? I've always had aspirations of being a dancer, those dreams even going back to when I was as young as four (as far back as I can remember, at least). I still do actually, it's my way of speaking. I get to express myself, both my joys and my sorrows, along with my frustrations. I used to dance to tell my stories. The fluid movements of my body was like painting a picture that was as beautiful as it was descriptive. Every spin, every toe point, every single one of my movements was a part of a different story that needed to be told and it was special to me. The floor was my playground. The air was my resistance. I couldn't be stopped.
Though... something is missing from my life. Despite being happy, I felt empty. I didn't have anyone to share it with, no one to talk to about...anything because my mother had died a few years back after disappearing into the woods and then my father got word that a woman had been seized and killed beyond the fence line two days after. I wanted so bad to have that one person I could talk to about it, but he wouldn't let me out... so I ran away.
I met someone special that day. Her name was Annabell and we became friends in the matter of moments, but those moments ended too quickly when he found me and from that moment, my punishment began.
I was to never leave the house - ever. The sun never touched my freckled face again. Instead, it was artificial light. My room was moved to the basement where he could always protect me from the outside world. He kept me from the running mazes. He kept me from being found. He wanted to make sure that he kept his memory alive of my mother and thus filled my room with all of her dolls and one day, he had figured out that I was nothing but the doll my mother had created. And the first prick of the needle began my sentence of a life of torture. I couldn't dance. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even be my self....
I was a prisoner in my own house.
Codeword: Thomas
