They are the ones who hurt me. I am the one who hurts others.Thirty hurt kids with blood, bruised bodies and chains hanging from their wrist, ankles, and neck. Thirty who want to escape but cannot. Thirty weak excuses. From our cells, we can hear them, but we try not to as they come closer and closer and we try to hide in the dark corners.

What they do to us is secret. They train us with iron fists. They make us run and they make us fight and if we don’t they boil with anger, and yank on our chains violently and throw us in the torture chamber. This is how they keep us in place.
    

One mustn’t fall victim to the punishments, for they’d fall into the darkness, each losing their sanity. You’re weak, you’re weak, you’re weak they’d say as I scream out in pain. I don’t give in.

When I am in too much pain and too sad to continue, when I have lost my sanity, then they bring me back to where the other kids are. When I get back men and women kneel on the ground their hands bound a child stands before them,and I take my place in front of one. Thirty who do as they’re told. Thirty who take lives, but will never forget the ones they’ve taken. Thirty whose only reason left to live is to serve and do the bidding of their evil masters.