Light.

CW: Physical violence, gore, and sexual violence.

I hear them, the frightened whimpers. I cannot see them, not yet. He hasn’t come down in a few days. When he brought them, he didn't use me. The ruffled manhandling happened in the dark. It sounds like a young woman, not that I could be precise.

"Let me out! Please, let me out!" she screams into the soundproofed walls. Another victim of my owner. It's been five victims since he brought me home. I watched as his hands turned to screw my cap into the overhead compartment, pulling my switch, my light shone on the bloody stone floor. A man was chained in the corner. I couldn't see his face, but the tone was nerve-wracking. Now, I listen to the distinctive weary pleas of yet another body. Another name I will never know, another person that will be taken to the other side of the basement and tossed with the rest.

Her feet sound bare, the patter of her running from corner to corner, “I’ll do anything! You can’t keep me here!” The raw, dehydrated strain of her voice cracked under the pressure. I wished he would come soon; she needed to eat. It’s been far too long for this one. It’s hopeless to wish for anything else. I've watched them end all the same. She will die, but must he be so cruel with her? I want him to tend to her the way he tended to the others. The small one was quick; he gave her food, and the next time he pulled my chain, he was burying her.

“You bastard!” The words bounced once, falling flat in the small, stoned space. I heard the creak of the stairs; he was coming. I tried to hear her, but her noise had halted, completely. The sounds of her staggered breaths are barely noticeable.

His hand wraps around the bottom of my chain, and the small tug opens my eyes to the scene below me. She was covered in blood, her blonde hair coated in a thick substance only he would know.

“I told you, you were to behave. Will you listen now?” my owner's voice asked, his tone rough, more jarring than I've ever heard him. His hands were empty. He truly was a bastard; she wouldn't survive much longer without something to help her. Unless that was his plan, to starve her out He sometimes got creative with his methods.

“Why are you. . . why are you doing this?” Her voice was slow, trembling. Her arms rubbed the open gash following her calf to her ankle. He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbing her leg, pulling her closer to him as he examined the wound, “I told you, I shouldn't have to repeat myself," He answered softly, his tone entering that gentle muse he usually grappled with the victims.

“You must learn some manners.”

I watched as he went to the stairs, re-emerging with a tray settled with a plate of toast and some eggs. A singular glass of water graced the corner as he set it on the floor in front of the sleeping bag. She didn't move, and a haunting cackle escaped his lips, “Say thank you,” he ordered, but I didn't hear it. She made no sounds, and I tried to urge her; my wires flickered once. I knew better than to make myself appear faulty, then she’d be stuck in the darkness. He wouldn’t replace me, not for this one. She was different. I needed to know why, I needed to hear him say it.

“SAY THANK YOU!” he barked.

“Th-thank you,” she followed, the start of her shivering almost taking over her voice. His arm cupped her cheek; the small caress left my wires buzzing. He turned, leaving me on, while the door shut with a click. She hustled to the tray, devouring the food as she rightfully should. The poor thing must have been in pain; I would never know.

I allowed myself one more flicker in her presence, though she didn't look up. I hoped it gave her a sense of calm. The room felt darker knowing the grim end waiting for her. Maybe it was good that it went unnoticed as she stuffed her face with a person's given necessities. Her clothes were torn; she must have put up a decent fight. Maybe she could do it again, but I knew how worthless it was to assume. The gash on her leg spat blood onto the floor with every movement, yet she remained content with her tray.

I watched as she examined the door, her movements were precise as she hit the corner, I couldn't see her, but the noise was loud. She must have assumed by now she could say anything she wanted without his knowledge. She returned with a rock, the sharp edge digging into an indent that was there before my time.

She stabbed the edge into the crevice; her time was short. An amount I couldn't even guess. The chalked pressure barely made a dent in the wall. It wouldn't be enough, the rock flew across the room, her reality zooming in. I could see it in her demeanor as her shoulders slumped. The woeful tears entered the space; the light sob said more than any plea would have.

Time passed as she was curled in the corner, the tray pushed close to the door, a move every victim pulled in hopes he wouldn't get any closer. A gesture that ran pointless in every single attempt. For whatever reason, he had to pick such a heartless career; he has seemed to master the art of intimidation. The door opened as he walked past my chains. He chuckled as he picked up the tray, “Am I your servant boy?”

My wires buzzed, knowing what was coming, his teasing polite tone aching within me. The wires vibrate my bulb, a warning I know she would never consider. A hint she would never place, I stop the buzzing as my owner glances up, his face scrunched in annoyance. He drops his head, meeting hers as the tray goes flying near her body. He's on her just as quickly.

“You oughtn't command me,” he whispered to her. The girl was silent. Frozen in fear that was properly placed. His hand was on her cheek, gripping dangerously tight. The rhythm of their breathing staggered, hot as their faces were lost to my overhead view. He was impatient, and he was twisted; every moment meant something more than the next and this was her moment. She hadn't done anything wrong, but he had decided she committed plenty of crimes.

He stood slowly backing away from her, his hand grappling around my chain as he tugged the room into darkness. I could hear his feet, the shuffles as she fought, “Get away from me!” she hollered, broken into the dim moonlight.

I tried to brighten the room, I tried to help her find a place to run, as the darkness consumed even me. The crackling shifted the moments of her fight. She was silent, alive, but silent. He said nothing as I listened to the scene I've seen a few times before. My wires were cooling and would be chilled by the time it was all over. I could only hope he would keep me in the dark; I didn't want to see another victim.