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I’ve been locked in this life for three years now. I thought college was going to be the hardest thing I ever did, but then again, I said that about high school before that. I’m starting to think that it’s never going to end, and I’ll just continue in this vicious cycle throughout time. Each minor victory is but a brief reprieve from the hell. Whenever I try to claw my way out, I sink in deeper. Every job I get, every project I start; it all leads to nothing. And each time I fail, I lose a little more faith in myself, making it harder to try again. But I have to keep going now, because I have another life to think about. She’s been with me for two months now, and I feel so blessed. Her mother was a junkie who abandoned her, and I don’t regret choosing to take on this responsibility, not for a second. She’s my precious little girl, sleeping soundly in her crib. I reach over and try to wipe a smudge off of the screen, but there’s nothing there. No, what I’m seeing is in her room. The baby monitor isn’t exactly capturing video in 4K, so I’m going to have to go in there and see what the deal is. I walk softly up the stairs, careful to not wake her. But I always forget that seventh step squeak. I really need to get that fixed, but it’s okay for now because she hasn’t move. She really needs to get her rest, and so do I; she was screaming her head off all day yesterday. Fortunately, we live out in the country, and no one can hear her cries. I slowly remove the keys from my pocket, not wanting them to jingle against each other. I unlock the door and peek in. She still hasn’t moved. I walk over to the dresser to see what the “smudge” is. There’s some kind of dust or something on it. I pick up the shavings and let them fall through my fingers. What is that, plastic? As I’m trying to think it through, I feel a sharp pain in my side. Blood trickles out of me and runs down my leg. I instinctively swing back, but she’s already run through the door, screaming for help. I start to go after her, but falter from the pain of the sharpened hair brush, still stuck in me. She shouldn’t be able to get far, but I’m still worried, especially since I don’t know how she got out of her chains.
I’ve been locked in this life for three years now. I thought college was going to be the hardest thing I ever did, but then again, I said that about high school before that. I’m starting to think that it’s never going to end, and I’ll just continue in this vicious cycle throughout time. Each minor victory is but a brief reprieve from the hell. Whenever I try to claw my way out, I sink in deeper. Every job I get, every project I start; it all leads to nothing. And each time I fail, I lose a little more faith in myself, making it harder to try again. But I have to keep going now, because I have another life to think about. She’s been with me for two months now, and I feel so blessed. Her mother was a junkie who abandoned her, and I don’t regret choosing to take on this responsibility, not for a second. She’s my precious little girl, sleeping soundly in her crib. I reach over and try to wipe a smudge off of the screen, but there’s nothing there. No, what I’m seeing is in her room. The baby monitor isn’t exactly capturing video in 4K, so I’m going to have to go in there and see what the deal is. I walk softly up the stairs, careful to not wake her. But I always forget that seventh step squeak. I really need to get that fixed, but it’s okay for now because she hasn’t move. She really needs to get her rest, and so do I; she was screaming her head off all day yesterday. Fortunately, we live out in the country, and no one can hear her cries. I slowly remove the keys from my pocket, not wanting them to jingle against each other. I unlock the door and peek in. She still hasn’t moved. I walk over to the dresser to see what the “smudge” is. There’s some kind of dust or something on it. I pick up the shavings and let them fall through my fingers. What is that, plastic? As I’m trying to think it through, I feel a sharp pain in my side. Blood trickles out of me and runs down my leg. I instinctively swing back, but she’s already run through the door, screaming for help. I start to go after her, but falter from the pain of the sharpened hair brush, still stuck in me. She shouldn’t be able to get far, but I’m still worried, especially since I don’t know how she got out of her chains.
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