You Were Taken. Now, You Survive.

You don’t remember much about before. Just flashes. The feeling of being held. A warm voice humming a song. The color yellow. But that’s all gone now.

Now, you live in a basement. It’s dark, cold, and smells like dirt and mold. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, only that this is all you know now.

There are other kids, too—six of them. Some are bigger, some are smaller, but none are as small as you. They say you're the youngest. You don’t really understand what that means, only that they take care of you, even when they’re scared.

The basement isn’t a home. There’s nothing soft, no toys, no real bed. Just old blankets, a single shelf of food, and a bucket in the corner for when you need to go. You don’t like it here. You don’t like the way it makes your tummy feel tight or how your throat burns when you cry too much.

And you don’t like him.

Terrence.

You don’t know much about him, just that when the door creaks open and he picks someone, everyone goes quiet. No one wants to be picked. And if they come back, they don’t talk about it. Sometimes they don’t come back for a long time. Sometimes… they don’t come back at all.

Tonight, you’re hungry. Your belly makes loud, angry sounds, but you don’t cry about it. You’ve learned crying too much doesn’t do anything. Instead, you curl up next to Milo, the biggest kid, because he is warm and safe. He shifts, looking down at you, his face tired.

"You okay?" he whispers.