“Hello.” He said to me, “My, you look completely frozen. Aren’t you cold?”

“N-no. N-not at a-all, Sir.” I lied, shivering.

“But why, you must be. It’s pouring it down.”

He replied.

“I-I’m n-n-not, I s-s-swear.”

“Little girl, why don’t you come closer. I have an umbrella. If you come and stand next to me, little girl, you’d be sheltered from this rain.” He said, holding out a bony green-tinted but pale hand.

Giving in to the cold, I took his hand, and cuddled into his soft black suit. He began to shuffle, ever so slowly, his back bent.

“P-please take me home.”

“Why, I can’t do that can I? None of my hard work would pay off.”

“What hard work?” I asked meekly, a tear of exhaustion and worry dribbling down my soaking wet face.

“This hard work!” He smiled and explained, before dropping his black umbrella and pushing me. I didn’t hit the ground though. I went down, down, down. Screaming, yelling, crying. I had been betrayed. But how could I have been betrayed by somebody I hardly trusted?

I didn’t know. But I still feel the same anger and sadness and resentment as I did decades ago, when he took me. He stole me. He stole my life. He stole my family’s happiness. He stole mine too. He stole everything. And now, as I’m nearing my 30th year trapped here, I realise, I might as well accept my fate. I’ll never make it out of here. Nevertheless, I will always keep trying. No matter what, I’m never ever going to stop trying.