My actual location, I could not tell you. All I know is that I am somewhere in Haiti.

Twenty-four years. That’s how long I’ve been alive, at least. I could be twenty-five, possibly even twenty-six by now. The rising of the sun and moon have blurred over time. The days have been long and wretched. The rigid red marks traveling up my left leg and calloused pink abrasions on my hands are witness to my condition. The absurd notion that somehow I would escape this imprisonment has ceased. My memories are no longer used as a base for future endeavors; rather they have evolved into a survival mechanism. Memories serve as entertainment in this world full of bare basic, raw life.

To think, I used to justify their actions in this world. But now I want them punished.

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