The men running the orphanage had a despicable system that disposed of anyone with goodwill and let them perpetuate the abuse. The punishment for helping someone was weeks of rape and torture. There was never enough of anything for everyone, so we had to fight each other all the time. This prevented us from joining against them.

Though the reward for good behavior was rape, too. Still, it helped to avoid torture.

The orphanage was organized in layers. The side closer to the road was the best place, with the worst things happening the deeper you went to the other side. The newcomers that looked somehow happy were let outside, living in huts. Thanks to that, the orphanage looked like a nice place. And if you followed their orders and did your best to make the orphanage look good, then you could enter for the warm bed and food they promised.

Once inside, the first thing they do is instill fear. They drag a broken person to show you what happens to the people who disobey, while giving an enthusiastic discourse of helping each other and working for everyone in the orphanage.

At that point, I tried to escape so many times; I reached the worst part in a matter of days.

Though that place was like a river of dead people. It took no time for the girls and boys who denounced me to go there after receiving their “reward”.

I was a clueless girl back then; I thought pregnant women were just fat; I thought the men tried to console them by hugging them during the night.

For me, it was a scary place where nothing terrible seemed to happen until I saw the insane amount of suicides. My illusion broke when a “fat” caretaker protected me and told them I was too young. They took her away, and the next day, they found her in a pool of blood. Another caretaker saw her do it.

There was a way for the boys to save themselves from the rape and torture, and that was becoming one of them. If they found a boy raping girls, then they’d invite him to join them a few times to “have fun”. If he wasn’t faking it, then he’d move to live in a nice place and would be in charge of some twisted activities.

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Though I never saw one succeed. The boys committed suicide after breaking too. Their last test was to rape a pregnant girl or caretaker, then use a mace to make her “flat” before giving her the final blow. After that, they had to make soup from the baby and give it to us. If those monsters still harbored doubts, they’d make the boy drink from the soup too. If he didn’t do it, they’d rape him and kill him right there to make an example for us and would force one of us to kill the woman. And again, if they refuse, they’d rape them and kill them and repeat until the pregnant woman is dead.

They called that kind of thing a show, and everyone in the deepest part had to attend and see it.

Things weren’t over after that. After experiencing that, it was common for many to attempt suicide. And they knew it. I saw many girls remove the wooden tables from the window only to find metal bars on the other side. I saw how they ran desperately around the room, searching for a way to end their lives before the men came in and took them away. There were also a few girls who killed the boys, saying it was better to kill them now before they become monsters.

Every night there were screams for help from the caretakers, the boys and girls. And you never knew where you could wake up, so sleeping was something we did when we couldn’t stand it anymore.

Helping others was death. Having friends was a weakness, but it was a small happiness that was worth it. Though it made your life shorter. Many friends tried to save their friend from being taken away or raped, only to be killed to show everyone what would happen to them if they ever tried to help others.

I was in that abysm for six years. Somehow I escaped. After such a thing, something like being raped in both holes and mouth, then being left with bruises and broken bones in the forest was nothing.

A few hours and a few days are nothing compared to six years.

And after seeing so much death, anyone would avoid it like the worst thing in the world. I mean, who would kill another human after meeting a woman who entered to work there to take care of her daughter, saw her daughter being raped and killed slowly, experienced the same things, became pregnant with the kid of the men who murdered her daughter, raised her new daughter for six years with the promise that they wouldn’t touch her if she obeyed them, then they broke their promise and this time they forced her to kill her daughter. Though I won’t mention how they forced her to kill her daughter.

…

The punishment for killing is a death sentence. I don’t mind that. But why do I need to kill a rapist? It’s not like I’m protecting murderers. So I am right. I have no obligation of denouncing them if it costs them their lives. If they murder someone, that’s another thing and has nothing to do with me.