(Editor’s note: After reading this story it seems to show signs of Stockholm Syndrome. And I myself can relate to many of the things written here.)
I was taken from my parents and siblings at a very young age, given to a pair of older adults, and forced to live my life in what can only be described as “solitary confinement”. Every day is the same boring routine for me and I have come to realize that this upbringing has not given me the social skills that others would have learned by this age.
Everyday I sit at the window, watching the birds outside, and think about escaping. And every day I talk myself out of it. What would I do out in the real world? Where would I go? How would I survive? My captors bring me food every day but I have no idea where to find this outside of the walls that define my detention. I have no idea where to find my original family or if they are even still alive.
Although I see very little of anyone besides my captors, I do know that others exist. Once in a while I will see one of my brethren outside on the street, and I long to join them; but usually they wander off as quickly as they had appeared.
My life isn’t a complete loss though, I am not abused and once in a while I do “connect” with one of my captors, the father figure. He is nice and we sometimes interact, but soon I tire of him. I’d rather spend time alone, so I retreat to my room, to enjoy the quiet that fills my days.
Sometimes they try to trick me by placing small traps around the house. Nothing dangerous, so I play along as it seems to entertain my captors in some perverse way.
I don’t know how long my life will be or if the routine of my life will change; but for now I have the window, the view, and the birds to entertain me.
Hemibill's Blog 