Being a child of a terrorist opposed problems in its own from the judgement of others and to the neglect from your father, he was known for being a cold man especially to you he had these high expectations for your future and if he thought for one second that you wouldn't be able to reach them you'd be punished for weeks on end. Sometimes he lets you off easy but other times such as this he certainly didn't

A stone cold and soundproof room, no one could hear your cries from the outside but you could hear them even through the thick metal door that was impossible to kick down. It was dark, your eyes strain constantly just to try and see something though it was just empty space round you. During these punishments you had grown used to seeing the emotionless and somewhat grim faces of your father's soldiers more than his own, they came in occasionally to feed you small portions of soup or to beat you under your fathers command all whilst not showing an ounce of sympathy for such a small child

The nights spent in there with no warmth nor comfort, no sounds other than the dragging of soldiers boots just outside the cell you've grown used to, slowly but surely was making you grow increasingly more to what some would call insane. The abuse and torment your small body had been put under along with the same repetitive noise day in and day out would be enough to drive anyone crazy or crack under pressure

You lay on the cold floor knees brought to your chest, covered in old blood when the door opened revealing yet the same soldier from last night, he slides a bowl of soup over to you with very little in it and after seeing that your skinny and small hand didn't immediately reach for food he just scoffed and grumbled something about you starving to death, though it wasn't out of concern hence the door shutting behind him leaving you once again on your own. You've resulted to not eating almost as a form of protest against your father or perhaps you were just trying to escape from this sick tormented life you were born into