Contrabass - Kevin Penkin}

How long has it been since I got here? I don't know. I can't tell if it's day or night, but with how messed up my sleep schedule has become, I have become trapped in this place of 'happiness.' Many men have played with me in bed, but so far, I've yet to find one who will get me out of here.

My mind is rotting inside this trap inside this place that constantly drowns my thoughts with a fake feeling of euphoria and temporary happiness. I chase after my next dose of drugs, and for what? The feeling only lasts a couple of seconds, but it costs me everything as I lose track of time even further.

One morning, I woke up in the middle of the day and checked around me, seeing a dozen men all sleeping in the same bed I woke up from, yet I do not remember a thing; I can't tell how long it's been anymore, I look older, and I feel a little taller, but that's about it, how long had I been trapped there? Who knew, and who cared?

I simply look over the room for a needle filled with that purple substance so that I can numb my mind once again with that fake feeling of euphoria. Then, the needle contains happiness; I'm happy every time the needle pierces my veins and lets out that happy formula inside me. I feel better than ever whenever I do it.

My voice was still gone, but my cordial box finally produced sounds of pleasure like light laughter and moans. The exact same voice lines I did just now after injecting my body with that purple substance; that fantastic feeling of fabricated happiness feels great, so great I don't even mind the men fucking me right out of bed.

The rush suddenly cuts out as the day ends with me in the backrooms along with others like me, all smoking cigars and other things out of necessity; how did it feel to smoke? Could that perhaps replicate the feeling of the purple substance?

Unable to speak, I make a gesture to one of the girls who sold those smoky things, who gladly take my money in exchange for a cigar, which I then try out. The smoke fills my lungs for the first time, and it burns and stings worse than anything else before provoking a dry cough that arouses the attention of some.

Stolen story; please report.

"Took her long enough to start smoking, aye?" Says the girls around me as they clean up their hair with the help of their brushes and little things to help them look better; how long had I been there? Did it even matter? Probably not.

I soon return to my work clothes and walk out alongside my peers, yet something is different this time around; an all too familiar face shows up at the place of my work; my father was here; why was he there? Had he come to take me out of this hole?

My hopes and dreams were soon crushed when I noticed that my father was again too hammered even to recognize me as he slapped my ass and threw money at me, his own daughter. Was there any way out of this world? I wondered for a second before my father drugged me as any other customer would right before buying some time with me.

My mind soon goes all fuzzy again as the hours go by, and I don't even notice how my father then defiles my body alongside hundreds of other men before him. It was all too fuzzy and confusing to remember anything other than the hangover and the cum inside your body the following day; how long had it been?

Time flies by inside this happy place; girls always leave and come. Some of the ones that were here before me are now gone, and some of them have big breasts now; my body is also not the same; had it been years or weeks? Months or maybe just a couple of hours? I couldn't tell anymore.

My heart and spirit broke in two, along with my willpower and soul. What good was this life if I couldn't live it like I wanted it to? I asked myself one morning while looking at myself in the mirror, grabbing a knife in my left hand. I pressed it against my right wrist for a little bit before stopping.

One small cut on both sides of my hand would be enough to end this fucked up life retrial; whatever hell was, it couldn't be any worse than this miserable life of nothingness; I was meaningless, lacking any sort of value or moral drive forward, just an empty shell of my former self.

The floor opens beneath me as my will dives deeper into a hole of deprecation and self-destruction. Nobody in this world wants to help out a girl like me; why would they? I can't talk, I can't use magic, and I'm not a virgin anymore. What worth did I carry?

The dark walls around me close in even more, sending me even deeper into a self-hole of despair and loneliness.