I Am Trapped Inside

If you find this letter, I beg of you, take it to the authorities at once. Do not come looking for me alone, it is not safe.

My name is Kelly Harris and I am sixteen years old. I have lost track of time but I believe it to be several months since my mother locked me inside of the old barn behind our house.

It was the day of my sixteenth birthday. My mother had baked a nice chocolate cake with white icing and there was a single red balloon attached to the dining room table. I didn't have any friends to invite, not that I was allowed to have guests over to the house anyway. Before I could indulge in a slice of chocolate cake my cat Jake came zooming through the house, his claws hooked into the lacey cloth on the table. I watched in horror as the cake tumbled to the floor.

My mother came rushing into the dining room with a broom in her hand. I grabbed Jake and held him tight and close to my body. As the broom erratically swung through the air I heard myself cry out in pain with every strike. It seemed like hours had passed, although I know that it was mere minutes before the beating came to an end. As I tried to raise myself from the floor a burning pain ignited in my chest. I am certain that my ribs had been broken. I gasped for air as I tasted the metallic blood rising from my throat. I tried to look around the room but my left eye was swollen shut. I finally spotted my mother sitting on the floor throwing pieces of cake against the wall as she cried and screamed.

My dad has been gone for many months. The kids at school would whisper behind my back about how he had run away, leaving me and my mom to fend for ourselves. They usually laughed at me because my one dress was dingy and worn. The teacher had even called the authorities once because she noticed the bruises on my arms. I tried to hide them as best as I could. I really didn't want mother to get into trouble. She said that it was my fault that dad had left us. I believed that I deserved those purple bumps and bruises.

When the police officer came to our house to check on me, he found mother sitting on the front pourch breaking green beans. I was in this old barn raking the scarce hay that was scattered on the ground. My mother told the officer that I had gotten the bruises from working in the barn. He believed her and filed the complaint as a false report. I watched as his car faded out of sight down the long and dusty driveway. That was the last day that I was allowed to go back to school.

As I watched my mother succumb to a complete nervous breakdown, I noticed the shotgun laying on the floor beside her. My heart sank and my blood turned cold. This would not be the first time that she had gotten so mad at me that she threatened my life. I fear that it is only a matter of time before she finds the courage to pull the trigger.

She grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out of the house. I stumbled in the wet grass and I could hear my hair rip and tear as she continued to drag me toward the old barn. I begged as she shoved me inside and slammed the door shut. I could hear her banging and beating nails into the door to keep me inside. It was dark and cold, I had never admitted it before but I was afraid to be alone in the barn at night. I peeked through the cracks as she dragged the shotgun behind her and made her way back to the house. I gathered what was left of the hay and piled it into the corner. I huddled in the darkness, holding Jake tight, and cried myself to sleep.

When the sun finally came up, I expected my mother to come let me out of the barn. I could smell bacon frying and the scent of fresh coffee filled the air. My stomach ached and growled with hunger but she never came for me. As the coolness of night settled in I found one of the old horse blankets in the barn and wrapped myself in it for warmth and security. I could hear the owls fluttering through the rafters. The eerie sounds that they made caused shivers to run down my spine.

That night as I tried to sleep, rats sneaked up on me and nibbled at my flesh. I tried smacking them away but they just kept coming back. By morning I was covered with tiny, painful sores. I yelled and cried for my mother but she never once acknowledged my pleas. I was growing weak and sick from a lack of food and water. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. I didn't mind because at least while I was sleeping I could dream about being inside, in my bedroom eating warm bread with melting butter and a tall glass of cold milk. That is one of my favorite snacks and I could literally taste it in my dry, chapped mouth.

The following night the rats came in more numbers. I cried and screamed as they tore into my flesh. I climbed up into the rafters to protect myself from them. I tried to remain alert, I knew that if I dozed off I would surely fall. My vision was blurry and my head ached with throbbing pain. I had left my blanket in the hay and I was cold and shivering, I was now too weak to call out for my mother.

I had learned in school that the human body will react to danger and that instincts will eventually kick in to assure survival. The next morning I found myself crawling around the barn searching for something to eat. I had scratched and clawed on the walls until my fingernails were broken and bloody. I stopped in a beam of light and starred at my battered hands. The small twinkle of sunlight that filtered into the barn burned my eyes.

I found a nest of tiny, hairless rats in the corner. I choked and gagged as I felt it squirm and wiggle down my neck. I couldn't bear to bite or chew it. I counted the tiny rodents, if I ate only two per day I might survive for another week. The leaking water hose outside provided a small trickle of water seeping through the cracks in the wall. I licked the wet board attempting to put some moisture in my mouth, but it just wasn't enough.

My mother must have heard me clawing on the boards because she stepped outside and fired the shotgun toward the barn. It was the first time that I had laid eyes on her since she put me in here. "One more sound and I'll burn that barn down!" she shouted before going back inside.

I wonder why nobody has missed me and came looking. Surely my teachers at school have noticed my absence. Every day I sit peeking through the hole in the wall, waiting for someone to come find me. I am unsure how much longer that I will survive.

I found the red balloon from my birthday, naturally, it was flat and torn. I can squeeze my hand through the boards just enough to hold it. I have spent days attempting to tape it back together with agricultural tape that I found in the barn. I have been able to blow what breath that I have left in my lungs into it. As I tie this letter onto the balloon, I find some comfort in the hope that it finds someone before it's too late.

My vision grows dark and I can no longer stand on my feet. I can see birds circling high above the old barn. I fear that they can sense my demise. Please hurry.