Yet again, I heard those knocks. Those noise with patterns. Their utters with intents. I felt scared, but I’ve learned not to quiver. I didn’t cry, but I let out a howl that only I can hear. But that night, I was not expecting someone to enter that door. I was not anticipating to feel those unprecedented emotions. They had come.

I was in a dark place. A street filled with rue. People full of conflicts. A room with a single door that goes noisy every night. A cloth topped by burning sand. Yet I found the blaze more enthralling than the smoke it produced. So I dreamed outside.

I felt happy being on the other side. I was just running. They were just chasing me. I was just hitting those cans. They were just avoiding it. I was just eight. They were just masked. I was just altering the reality I have.

I ended up swinging up and down in that colorful place. I could feel the wind, the sweat, the exhaustion, the hunger, the pain, I could feel everything. But that didn’t stop me savoring those joys I was feeling. That ground was the sweetest thing I have imagined, until the dusk came. Until they appeared.

I tried to run, to shout. But those didn’t stop them. I was still caught and put up in chains. I was still their prisoner and a flame to that filthy candle of vice.

“Sssshhhh”, they told me as they carried me like a sack. After a while, we were walking through that street. The people were not looking, for this was normal to them. We were on that house. I saw no light.

Like before, they gave me something again. They told me to shut my mouth and hide. They ordered me to go to some other people. I still didn’t know what those are. Who were they? Why was I doing that? But I knew where to go, for that place was an another colorful one.

In that place, I would eat again. I’d be stronger than I was a day ago. I’d be a superhero that would do things for others. So I flew. I felt the cold of the night and the shivers on my body. I was ecstatic. I was on my way to the other reality. I was running, walking, and jumping. I saw the moon, but it was different that night. It was blue and red. It had sound in it. It saw silhouettes of people I didn’t know.

In that perspective I knew I was damned. I was dumbfounded. I was like one of those grain in that bag. I didn’t know what to do. What about that thing? What about my food? What about me? What about the people who needs me? I was thinking hard until I heard a bang.

I wept yet I laughed. I thought of those colorful places I’ve been. I thought of all the children I’ve played with. I remembered my burnt toys, those cans, those masks, and those fires. I thought of myself. Would I be one of those kids in those places with smiling companies? Or would I be one of those who are inside of yet another house?

Whichever of the two, I’d still be flying. Flying very high, as a uniformed person carried me on his shoulders. A scalawag on the hands of a chattel of justice. What an odd view, together with that moon full of blood.

I realized I was in that boat. A boat going to the moon. The moon above a yet another prison. I felt the urge to resist. I wanted to fight. But my stomach said otherwise. My body told not. My mind decided to passed out.

I woke up in a familiar place. A room with a single door that goes noisy every night. But that time I was wearing a different cloth. It was not burning. The place had no smoke. The house was full of bodies and varying lights. Yet it was still dark.

Yet again, I heard those knocks. That time it was more delicate. Its pattern followed the beat of my heart. Their utters were to carry me, not to carry something. I shuddered, but I didn’t feel any fears. I cried, that time silently. That night, I was expecting someone to open that door. I was expecting blissful emotions. A very familiar person appeared to my sight.

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