Agony-Personal Narrative

Decent Essays
I’m freezing. My thoughts have condensed into a tangled mess, and a steady stream of coldcoldcold is all that’s coherent. Huddling atop my bed (hardly a bed; it’s near indistinguishable from cardboard and paper) is all I’m capable of in this state. A sharp ache in my stomach jolts me back to reality, and coldcoldcold morphs to hungryhungryhungry. I know in some part of my brain that breakfast comes after the silent dark, but in this moment it seems endless. In an effort to ignore the protests of my body, my eyes slip shut. I wish I could fall asleep, even if I’m to return to harsh yells and harsher work come daylight. But what’s worse is the crying. For each face that has grown cynical with time, there is a new one with fresh eyes, filling
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