Buba

I’ve never seen the sun.

I don’t even know what it looks like, really. Though it’s been described to me in detail, my thoughts and visions will never compare to the beauty of the real sun, the one that tans skin and bathes the Earth in warmth. Warmth I have never known.

I’ve lived in two places in my life: one, in my mother’s womb and the second, a dark, dirty hole I call home. I get three meals a day, though I used to only get two. I’m ashamed to admit I did horrific things to receive the extra meal; so ashamed, in fact, that my nightmares now center solely on my wrongdoing.

He comes at night and climbs onto my dirty mattress, smelling of sweat and body odor and God knows what else. There’s no one to cry out to, even if I could cry out. My mother was long since separated from me; taken by this very same man and placed somewhere I will never know or find.

She used to tell me stories about life outside of this captivity; a life filled with bright lights and childlike wonder. One such story, the story of how she met my dad and their short-lived life together, is what keeps me sane during these horrible moments.

When he finally leaves, I close my eyes and dream of the world my mother described to me. I’ve never seen it, never experienced it but here in my mind, it is the only life I’ve ever lived.

*

My mother used to explain to me that when you turn sixteen, you get a ‘Sweet Sixteen’ party and, if you’re lucky enough, a car.

On my sixteenth birthday I got a black eye and bruises.

In my head I am a figure skater, dancing and turning on ice in a bdfghjhgfdssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssseautiful dress. My father and mother watch me from the stands and cheer when I finish. I receive first place and eventually I compete at the Olympics, all with a smile on my face.

I stick with the thought until it finally consumes me. By then, there are no tears left to cry.

I have never smiled.

*

One day, I hear a loud banging noise from above...