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  • Writer's pictureKaitlyn Moss


Rain, it pitter patters against the glass as you gaze outwardly from your desk. You hear the subtle hum of the computer you are typing away at and the clock ticking softly on the wall. The room is dim, as the storm clouds block out most of the light from the glass building you are in. The city is far below you, bustling away.

Stretching you feel the muscles in your arms flex and the ache that is constant, eases for a moment. You look to your right and see your constant companion staring back at you. To the left you see only glass.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps behind you. A chill runs up your spine wondering who it is and what they want. “Mr. Owens, my name is Detective Peterson with the Seattle Police Department, we have finally captured the woman who kidnapped you, your family is outside and there is someone on the way with a saw for your chains”. You look to your wrists, where the metal has been digging in for three years and wonder what it will feel like to not have the heavy weight of the chains on your arms any longer. You look at the computer where you have been typing your name over and over and over for years.

You open your mouth to speak and wonder what your voice sounds like. “My name is not Mr. Owens and I have no family”, you manage to mumble over the bar in your mouth. “What?” Detective Peterson says. “No, don’t try again, Sam is here with the saw”. You feel someone push your heavy hair from your neck and begin to saw at the back of the head piece that has held your head forward all this time. You feel the metal fall away and for the first time in three years you can turn your head and close your jaw. You repeat yourself “My name is not Mr. Owens and I have no family”. The detective then asks, “What is your name, then?” “My name is number 7”, you respond and gesture towards the computer screen where my name is number 7 has been written thousands of times.

The chains fall from your wrists and your arms feel light. You stretch and try to stand, but you are weak, and you slump over the right side of your desk and look into the mirror. You see the long hair, beard and deeply tan skin and wonder what it would be like to be groomed into an inch of your life like you had before you fell in love with Suzanne. You remember the glint of her earrings and the slit of her dress the night you first saw her. “Where is Suzanne?” you ask. “She is dead “, Sam responds. Detective Peterson looks at Sam sternly and says, “You weren’t supposed to tell him!” You feel panic course through your system and with all the strength you didn’t know you had you lunge at Sam and try to choke him. “Lies, lies, LIES”, you scream. You feel something hit your head and you crumble to the ground as blood pours from your head. The last thing you see is Detective Peterson standing over you with a brick in his hands.

You wake up, sweat pouring down your back as the monitor to the left beeps quickly. You pull the electrons that are on the sides of your head off as you realize it was just a nightmare. The nurse comes in and hands you a glass of water. You drink it and as your hand raises the glass to your lips you see new scar tissue on your wrists as if you had been in shackles for a long time.

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Hannah Canon
Hannah Canon
Sep 30, 2021

ngl, you had me in the first half- 👏🏻


Angela Garcia
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Wow that took me on a ride!

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