Three Floors.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 08, 2017

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Submitted: April 08, 2017

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Three floors. One basement. Two sets of stairs. Three doors. One bowl. Copious amounts of newspaper. Who can say what sort of an existence this is. I go up the stairs. I go down the stairs. I sit in the newspaper. I eat from the bowl with my bare hands. I go the toilet in the newspaper. I sleep in the newspaper. I like to be clean. How can anyone be clean in such an environment? Once a day I am let out. Let out to roam the free world. But it is not free. One floor. Seven doors. Is there anything behind these doors? I will never know. I walk up and down the corridor. I scrape at the carpet. I hide in the corner. I sit on a suitcase. There is no meaning to this. I sit atop, aimlessly looking over my prison. Why am I here? Who put me here? No one deserves this. Am I not relevant? Am I no one? So many questions can be asked, though they are never answered. They will never be answered. There is no one to answer them. My tormentors? They let me out once a day and go through one of the seven doors. All that I can do is ponder as to what is behind these doors. I never hear anything. Silence. Not even a heartbeat. What do they want with me? Sometimes they stroke me on the head. Sometimes they fling me around. Sometimes they give me treats. It is only food, but the variety is welcome. Nuts. Dried fruit. It is no life. No luxury. I need to breathe the air of the world. I need sunlight. I need to feel the texture of grass beneath my feat. I need to feel the warmth of the sun. I have never felt the beauty of the earth. I have heard stories from my parents. I only knew them for a brief part of my life. I will not live to an old age, I have come to accept this. Though I despair to what my life could have been. What I could have achieved. Where I could have gone. Who I could have fallen in love with. Cliches I am sure. But not when you have lived your life within a cage. No friends. No freedom. Nothing. Cliches are all that you have left. 

 

Here it is, the end. I know that my life has not been long. It has not always been fun. It has not always seemed worthy of an existence. But it was a life. I did enjoy it. I enjoyed my home with my two Papas. As much as I gnawed, and as much as I moaned, they were there for me. They loved me. They cared for me even when I was too difficult to care for. I will miss my three floors. One basement. Two sets of stairs. Three doors. One bowl. Copious amounts of newspaper. It was my home. I had made it my own. And although I will not see it again, I will never forget it. It will never leave my dreams. I grew up there, and I died there. I had all that I ever needed. Ok, I never mastered the wheel, but it did look fun. I sat in my bowl, in my coconut, in my penthouse. I really was spoilt. My Papas looked after me well. I will always be grateful to them. I loved them, and they loved me. What else does a hamster need…A fantastic name. A brilliant and beautiful name. Edith.

 


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