I have seen The Trapped.
I see her, frantically rushing to complete everything on the level that she sets for herself, because she wouldn't be able to live with herself if it wasn't.
Inside, she is so scared of taking a single wrong step, that would send her whole tower of righteousness that she spent so long building tumbling down.
She doesn't know that I watch her, getting inside her mind.
I see her inner sigh, panicking in front of her computer. She fakes serenity, to reassure the ones that aren't watching.
One day, I heard her in the bathroom stall when the rest of the students were at Connections. She was singing softly to herself, being her only comfort to herself.
She's trapped inside her own, harsh evaluations.
I watch her struggling at her lockers, eyes and hands too uncoordinated to open it, because her mind itself is too far off. When it finally springs open, her books and work come tumbling out, and I see her near-let out frustration, the silent scream. But she regains it.
No one has noticed but me. And I notice one more thing.
A composition book, cow skin, as normal as possible, which she leaves behind.
I pick it up, again unnoticed.
The Trapped has a way to let out herself. In words. To the only One she trusts.
The Trapped writes her prayers, giving herself all up to God.
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Congratulations. You read what you have been afraid to admit, and now you have finally decided to acknowledge that fact. If you are trying to put me down, I know that you're just afraid. If you are complimenting me, what hinders you from doing this yourself? If you are speaking your mind to add to what I have to say, thank you. If you are, and you are anonymous, afraid to be known, I challenge you to say what you fiercely think without fear, forcing it into the world.