I messed up.

I messed up big time.

I know what I did was wrong. I wish I could take it back. But I can't. No matter how hard I try to clean up the ink stains, I can't undo what I did.

My father TOLD me not to mess with his desk, yet I did it anyway. I would have gotten away with it too, if I didn't spill ink all over myself and create a faint ink trail the way into my bedroom, where I was hiding under my bed, hoping that when my father gets home he'd ignore the obvious path leading to my hiding spot.

Although, a small part of me was worried. He always came home late, but this particular evening was... well... I didn't like being home alone. That's all I'm trying to say. The thunder was loud, I could hear the trees scraping against my window, and the sky was so incredibly dark.

I know we're the tribe of darkness, but I never was the biggest fan of the color black. The dark wasn't so bad when I wasn't alone, but at times like this, it made me feel uneasy. It's less of a fear of the dark and more of a fear of the unknown. Who knows what's hiding beyond my eyesight? Being only eight years old, my imagination would constantly run wild.

I've been told that we're always free to choose to believe in what we want to believe. It just so happens that everyone in the tribe has already been told what we were SUPPOSED to want to believe in. But sometimes, when I'm hiding under my bed, thinking about where I've been and the things the tribe has done, I feel afraid that the darkness will come to devour me until I can't escape.