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November 28th, 2020

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Gender: Male

Age: 28
Signup Date:
September 27, 2020


11/22/2020 01:20 PM 

[cs] - the escape

the escape
Six months. That’s approximately how long I’ve been held hostage in Sunset Boy’s Home. At least, that’s what I could tell from the scratch marks I’ve been making along my wooden bed frame. Immediately after the *incident*, I was sent here while the court system figured out what to do with a ten year old boy whose next of kin didn’t want anything to do with him. From the outside, Sunset Boy’s Home looked like a safe place for orphaned boys. The courts would never know the horrors that happened below in the basement. A sweatshop, where they forced all of the boys to work 14 hours shifts sewing knock off shoes.

On top of that, I was roomed with *Chester* - the psychotic, the lunatic, the *pet f***er*. Everything set this guy off: wrong looks, certain words, Tuesdays, not responding to questions. One moment he would go from laying on his bed (touching himself to a dog show) to using a homemade shank to either cut or stab me. Quite a few of my scars, ones that would never heal correctly because they were never treated properly, came from interactions with Chester. But, all of that was coming to an end *today*.

“What are you doing over there, Marcus?” Chester asked from his bed on the other side of the room. “Just reading a comic book”, I replied.

Behind the comic book I was adding the final pieces to my escape plan. Over the past five months, I’ve snuck needles and razors from the basement sweatshop into my room. The guards have noticed the short supply and suspected me - taking me to Mistress Ranks’ office. They stripped me, bent me over, and inspected every possible place I could’ve hidden those needles, but had to let me go when they didn’t find any. Sure, the guards checked my mouth and under my tongue, but they never found the needles I stuck *inside* of my cheeks. Hurt like hell, but worth it.

“Did you get my sandwich?” Chester called back out. It wasn’t actually *his* sandwich. It was his way of saying, ‘give me your dinner’. “Yeah, here you go”, I tossed the food over to him and waited anxiously for him to begin eating. It wouldn’t be long now, starting with the first cough. “What did you - “, Chester struggled to see between chokes.

“Hard to talk with needles in your throat?” Chester toppled to the floor with both hands wrapped around his neck - struggling to live.

Step two.

I flipped my bed over, creating a sort of barrier between me and the door. “Guards! There’s something wrong with me roommate”, I yelled. “What the f***, Noir”, they asked while unlocking the door and stepping in to check on Chester. “Hiding behind that bed won’t help you.”

“Says you”, I said before tossing the homemade bomb I made over the wall of the bed. “What the f*** is -.“ By the time they realized, it was too late. The mini bomb exploded, projecting needles and razors in every direction. Both guards instantly toppled on to the floor. Chester stopped struggling, now having needles inside and out. I contemplated going to the Head Mistress’ office and doing unthinkable things. The ideas played over in my mind so many times over the last six months. But in the end, I walked away - residing to rather be homeless than live in that hell.


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