Who Am I?

Who am I? What an intriguing question. I suppose I don’t have a simple answer to it. What makes me who I am? Perhaps it’s how others define me. If that’s the case, who do you think I am?

Over the course of my life, I’ve been called many things, trash, scum, mistake, worthless, maggot and that vixen's daughter, just to name a few. So maybe that’s who I am.

Or perhaps we are defined by the experiences we have? If that’s the case, I don’t have much to offer. My only experiences are being chained in this room, being yelled at and being beaten frequently. So perhaps that’s who I am.

Is it tied to our material possessions? If so, I have rags and a chain around my ankle. Those are mine, or perhaps I am theirs. What gives my life more value than the rags and chains? I could be replaced, I know since Father has Anne as a daughter. But chains and rags—they must be high value since I rarely receive any new ones.

Maybe it doesn’t even matter who I am. The world is going to end soon, allegedly a year from now. I know what a year is because I receive an additional ‘gift’ each year. Once every 365 days that the sun is out, father, stepmother, and Anne come in and take turns whipping me, beating me until I turn violet, and a red liquid called blood flows from my body. Sometimes, they even put their hands around my neck and choke me until I pass out. Apparently, that’s called a Birthday, and it happens every year.

I don’t really like it. It hurts. But it does break up my monotonous life, so that’s at least something. As to who I am, if the world is going to end soon, that means I’m going to die anyway. If a girl dies in a room and no one even knows she existed, does it matter who she was? I’ve been told I’m worthless, so it probably isn’t important who I am.

Perhaps I’m looking at this wrong. Maybe rather than who I am, I should focus on who I’m not. When Father was beating me earlier, he screamed about “the Teraxious”, erasing our reality because there was no god in ours or something. Father seemed on edge about it; maybe he was scared, and I could feel it in his fists. So, I certainly don’t think I am a Teraxious. If I were, my father probably wouldn’t beat me.

Using that same logic, I can’t be my father, stepmother or half-sister Anne either since none of them are ever beaten. If I don’t exist because others don’t know me, then perhaps other than Father, Stepmother, Anne and the Teraxious, there is nobody else since I don’t know anyone else. Does anyone else exist?

Is there a world outside these four walls? It’s hard to imagine. It’s honestly a little frightening. Perhaps these walls aren’t a prison but protection from the great unknown, even worse than being in here. One that will end soon anyway.

So, once again, who am I?

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

End of Prologue