The monstrous snores of sleeping children reverberates off the dirty-green walls of my room as I type commands into John Dell, the relatively slow but good enough computer that I am lucky to have in my room. I am careful not to pound the keys on his keyboard too hard or too fast ere I wake any one of the crybaby triplets sleeping on my mattress. It is annoying, but I have to walk on eggshells; I know very well what would happen if one of them blinks awake, and I want no part of that.

Wouldn't it be nice to see the moon? To have it light up the room just a tiny bit, Wouldn't it be nice to open the windows so the smell of sweat fades out as fresh night air comes in?, wouldn't the sound of the nightly crickets be so nice if they weren't dulled out by the closed windows?. I would give my soul to open up the windows and curtains, but if I do then those kids would wake up and I'll get in trouble.

John beeps twice in quick succession, startling me, but also telling me my vulnerability scan on the Wattpad website has reached one hundred percent. I smile the hacker smile that I've seen so many times on the big TV screen in Amanda's super cool mother's shop when mama and papa would allow us a three-hour Sunday outing time for good behaviour.

To be honest, I have been a very bad girl. I am not sure mama would give me any outing time this Sunday, I played my role very terribly when the welfare man came last. I was too tired and angry to pretend to be having fun, how can mama expect me to look happy after feeding me darn yam porridge for six days straight?. At this point in my life, I would rather eat bugs and dirt

John beeps once more and opens up my scan results automatically, my smile widens, and this one is genuine. It is obvious from the results that Wattpad blocked my digital footprint(I mean my IP and MAC address) in an effort to protect itself from my peaceful scan.

The more I think about it, the more my smile widens until it's a wide grin. It is just funny- No, just adorable, that Wattpad held a meeting over how to keep the bad guys out, and they concluded banning public internet addresses was the best idea. How could it not occur to them how utterly useless it is?

It takes two clicks to my connection settings and a little over five keystrokes to change my IP address and MAC address, wipe my cache and effectively become a new person. I confirm that my little trick works and I can access Wattpad with my new identity. It's a damn shame that I and my two brain cells can fool a giant like wattpad.

The words of Luke the lurker from a strange movie about a haunted piggy bank comes to my mind "only a fool does the same thing twice and expects different results". I might be crazy, idiotic, or mad, but I am not foolish. I know for a fact that Wattpad would also block this address before my scan completes if I do things in the same way.

It is clear that I would need a way to automate the process such that when one address gets banned, the other goes up with a latency period short enough that it won't cut my scan. I would need to code an IP changer that fits my needs- No, I would need to steal the code off some website.

Six minutes, it would have taken the whole of six minutes to write an imperfect IP changer that is just good enough. However, thanks to super smart people existing, I get something robust in seconds. I run my scan again and this time, I am successful. It is evident from my results that Wattpad has some pretty nice secrets just waiting to be revealed.

The vulnerability scan didn't bring up anything big or print "Database Hacked" in stereotypical hacking blue, but it held a lot of hints. I notice, almost instantaneously, a tiny flaw in Wattpad's advertisement framework that could let me read and potentially modify the code that controls how their advertisement works.

The power to serve everyone more advertisements than they bargained for, or to shut off the advertisement completely if I so desire. It is good, but it doesn't give me the rush I crave. I need passwords and I intend to get them.

It is a primal savage need that I can't explain. Those first eighteen seconds after I successfully compromise a database, it's the most amazing thing ever. It is like my heart stops pumping blood in those seconds and starts pumping savage fiery pleasure. I need that tonight more than anything.

I imagine I should just ask the web server nicely for it. That always works. But first, I must check if I even need passwords to login to random accounts.

Me- Wattpad server senpai, can you show me your login page

Wattpad- sure, why not? You look hungry, do you want cookies?.

Me- Never

Wattpad- Bummer, but I'll respect you. Here's your login page along with your box of cookies.

Me- ugh, thanks. How does your login page even work?

Wattpad- Listen hard. When you enter your username, my database evaluates it and returns true if it's valid. It doesn't stop there; it performs a similar process for your password and returns true if the password matches the username.

Me - okay, try devilstepfather and pASSword

Wattpad- username is true but password is false. Hope you are not Russian hacker.

Me - What is a hacker? Never heard of it. Anyway, try devilstepfather and 1=1

Wattpad- username is true and password (1=1) is also true. If you had said 1 = 2.... Anyway, let me log you in real quick.

Me: Thank you

Wattpad: Did you just try to trick me? Fuck off, bastard.

     Okay, that didn't work. I might have underrated wattpad, I need passwords after all. I clear everything and start again

Me- Hi, wattpad

Wattpad- Didn't I just tell you to fuck off?

Me- That was Ayah, not me at all. I am innocent and deserve love and care

Wattpad- Do you want cookies, new person?

Me- Love them, I would also love to seee your login page.

Wattpad- take these 5 ads first 

<<thirty seconds later >>

Wattpad- here's your login page, brov

Me - can you check for a file named logins.db (which contains all usernames and encrypted passwords)

Wattpad- here it...

I hear a switch flip and John's screen shuts off, leaving me in total darkness. I know the brat who is responsible, even if the darkness is too thick for me to see him. A murderous rage fills my belly, but like a toothless dog, I can't do anything.

" It's late Ayah, go and sleep, the computer is not running away." He says as he walks back to his bed and lays down.

I don't reply, I just sit there steaming and stewing in my hatred of him. I stand up and start pacing in rebellion, humming and intentionally bumping into things; if he wants me to sleep, then that's the one thing I won't do. I would show that smug pseudo-parent son of a hopeless drunk and a wife-beater that he can't control me.

* * *

It is morning, my eyes are closed, but I can tell it is. I feel so weak, so cramped, so used. I had a dream- No, it was a nightmare, what was it about?. It was so vivid just a few seconds ago, but it's mostly gone now, leaving behind an empty feeling of dread. It is quiet here, too quiet, where has everyone gone?. I have to open my eyes, but I don't want to. So weak, I must sleep a little longer.

I feel an ungodly presence around me, it is like eyes watching me, drawing nearer. I jump out of my chair and my eyes snap open, I can feel the eyes behind me, still watching. I try to walk normally out of my room to make whatever is behind me think I'm not scared, but as I feel it draw closer, I find my legs carrying me outside my room at super speed of their own volition.

I reach the door and effectively fly through it, slamming it shut with a bang and locking it. I rest my back on the door and as the sound of the door echoes through the empty parlour, I start to feel safe again, I know it can't pass through locked doors, nothing can.

Smirking at my victory, I walk leisurely to the dining table, whistling a random tune I just constructed. There is a covered plate on the table and a fork beside it. It is yam porridge, I just know it and I've never been wrong.

I pout, preparing my stomach for the abominable meal, cursing mama in my head. She knows how much I hate yam porridge, and yet she insists on it. After laying a few of my worst curses, I open the plate's cap and I'm pleasantly surprised to find that while I was correct as I always am, I wasn't entirely correct. It isn't yam porridge on the plate, it is plain white yam.

I say a short prayer out of habit and then descend on my food. But even as I eat, I can't help but feel completely alone, I can't help but feel the dread I've been feeling all morning like something bad is about to happen to me. I try to ignore it, but the more I do, the worse it gets.

It is quiet. It is too quiet. I close my eyes, and then I hear it - No, I've been hearing it since I entered the parlor, but my brain dismissed it. It is very faint, but I know it is the sound of a ball bouncing. I know a ball doesn't bounce on its own, it stands to reason that something or someone is making it bounce. I am not alone.

With the possibility of companionship hanging so close, I find myself smiling again. Even though I know the person who is bouncing the ball was a disgusting bag of decomposing fecal matter(yes, I am still mad), I still feel great. I immediately get up and follow the sound to the door.

* * *

His skin shines with sweat under the morning sun. I can see his laser focus on our makeshift basket. I can tell he doesn't see me. I run over and steal the makeshift basketball from him, throw it into the basket and score a three.

My actions weren't motivated by love for the game, they are 100% spite. I know how bad he wants to be able to make the basket from here, yet he can't, and I know that as well.

It is not intentional, but I catch myself staring at my hands and smiling like a pervert old man. When philosopher kanye north said "The only true constant is change", he wasn't joking. There was a time I hated my hands and couldn't even look at them, owing to the strange structure and sheer length of my fingers.

Everyone I have ever met or talked to has three clearly defined joints in every finger that is not the thumb. This is not the case for me, I have four.

There was a time I used to think if someone saw this oddity, they wouldn't want to talk to me and so I hid them from the world, wearing only clothes with pockets large enough to swallow my hand.

However, when I started learning to type. I discovered that they weren't an impediment, but an advantage. They didn't make me odd, they made me special. I am evolutions next step, able to type two hundred words per minute without even trying.

The true secret to my accurate shots lies in capitalizing on that extra bit of control my fingers give me. I honestly couldn't ask for any better.

I don't have many advantages in life, I'm not attractive or ugly, at 5'7 I'm not short or tall. In fact, except for being bony(slim is the cool one), I'm basically the textbook definition of plain Jane. However, when plain Jane gets a gift from nature itself, she is surely going to use it.

"You still wouldn't tell me how you get it every time," He says

"Maybe if you didn't insist on not requesting consent— my permission on things that affect me, I would have told you. " I say smugly as I catch the ball as it bounces back "You had your fun imposing your will on the parts of my life that you can control. If I get one chance to keep something out of your reach, I would use it "

" it's not good to open your eyes on computer through the night, you know," He says

"Where is everybody?" I ask, realizing that the conversation was lighting up my quick fuse.

"Mom and Dad has taken the other children to school," He says and at the word school, I see his countenance fall. I hear him whisper something under his breath. It sounds to me like "it's unfair"

If that is what he said then I agree. I also agree with him on something else he never said. If he isn't going to school, even though he wants to then it is completely my fault. I suck.

The truth about Mama and Papa is they hate legal trouble, they are damn scared of going to jail. In the beginning, before I came here, they were too scared of taking him out of school because welfare man might find out and sue. However, thanks to the bad luck I carry around, my parents died and I had to come here. The school was low quality in comparison with my old one and so, finishing with perfect scores wasn't a problem. To put it shortly, I performed so much better than him that mama and papa had their excuse; me. It must have been hard on him, hearing those words.

"We are taking you out of school for a while because you have proven that school is too hard for you. Look at how good Ayah is doing, if you were like her then we wouldn't have to. We have the money to support three children, it makes sense that we support the best"

I throw the basketball at him to snap him out of it. I know it's not the best response, but it's all I have. I have never been able to watch someone get sad, it makes me more miserable than even the person. It is worse when I know that directly or otherwise, the person's sadness is my fault

"Did you know that four out of five people suffer from diarrhea? Does that mean one person enjoys it?" I quip. It is desperate, but anything is better than nothing.

"Why did the chicken cross the basketball court?"

He doesn't even acknowledge the setup, he just bounces the ball. I decide to give him my A+ material. I am determined to make him at least less sad by any means possible but, before I get the chance to say anything at all, mama and papa open the gate and enter inside, bringing with them a man I do not know.

He is of average height, dad-looking and thinly haired with a back that is almost unnoticably bent. He is wearing the shiniest, cleanest blue suit I have ever seen and carrying with him a brown leather briefcase. I have no reason, yet, I can't help but feel a sense of danger oozing from him.

I feel small in his presence, I feel so terribly small and hopeless in his presence. My body sends a message to my mind, it says in a language that only I understand "get away now....get very far away".

" Ayah, come." Mama calls, looking at me in the eye, relaying to me the rest of the message in a way only she can, the mama's eye speak.

I walk towards her and consequently towards the man, leaving my brother on the makeshift court to his sorrows and obeying mama's call against the will of my body. I see his eyes on me, he isn't looking directly at me, but I feel his gaze like it's burning me to my bone.

Mama and Papa walk ahead into the house to prepare it for the visitor, leaving him with me. it is my job to make sure he walks slow enough to give them enough time. Mama wants me to match his pace, interest him in a conversation, and then slow down, causing him to slow down as well. I would rather not stay close enough to him to do that.

"You have beautiful hands," he tells me, matching my pace. His voice is high-pitched, forced.

I don't reply, I don't know how to reply. Do I say; yes, I have beautiful hands?, No, I don't have beautiful hands? or maybe I have beautiful hands?.

"You too, sir" I respond

He looks at his hands and I can't tell if he is mocking me, or he is genuinely happy. He is smiling like a kid with a candy bar, and somehow I still find this threatening.

"Thank you, Ayah," he says

At the sound of my name, my level of discomfort spikes. He shouldn't be calling my name. Why is he calling my name?

* * *

The sun blazes hot overhead as I race down the road towards Amanda's house with my dad in hot pursuit. I am fast enough to steadily increase the distance between us, but I know I cannot keep this up for long.

"Ayah" he screams "come here this instant"

I don't reply. I know what I saw as I peeped through the keyhole. I don't know the whole story, but I know if he gets me, I am screwed. Amanda's mother is my only hope now.

The data I have is incomplete, but the situation feels very familiar. A strange man comes to my house, Mama arranges a situation where we are close, he complements me and then, money changes hands. It can only mean one thing.

"Help me catch her" he screams at everyone around and no one at all. But the passive townspeople can't be bothered enough to start running in the hot sun over someone else's business.

Amanda's mother is standing outside her shop, drying her clothes, she is looking at me with a confused frown on her face as I vault over the low fence surrounding her shop and charge at her at super speed.

"Please, do you have anywhere I can stay" I breathlessly word "my papa, he wants to kill me"

She pauses for the longest second, a second which feels like months to me as I know in any second, Papa would be here.

"Why? what did you do?" She asks.

"Please, just anywhere" I reply

I hear a pounding on the gate and a gruff, authoritative voice call my name. He's here. I dash into Amanda's mother's shop the moment I hear it. I do this even though I realize I can't completely trust her or her shop to keep me safe.

The sound of Bart Simpson laughing maniacally greets my ears. It is from the Television hanging off the wall directly above the massive thermocool freezer in the shop. I don't bother to even glance at it at all. It is the freezer that catches my interest. I walk over and open it, helping myself to one large size energy drink before leaving out the back door and closing it behind me. I then traverse my way to the backyard fence and vault over it outside the compound.

The energy drink does nothing to stop me from collapsing on the grassy ground at the back of the fence, completely tired. I hear Amanda's mother open the gate, I can only hope Amanda's mother is as decent as I hope she is.

The plan is simple; If Amanda's mother is decent and strong enough to keep papa from entering her shop, then I would crawl back in when he leaves, re-energize and think. However, if she lets him look into her shop, then I would use the time they would spend searching for me in vain to escape.

I close my eyes and focus on the stimuli my ear is receiving, I hear them talking, but I don't know what they are saying. I don't hear the sounds of discord but that of compliance and so when I hear them enter the shop, I am not surprised at all.

My throat tightens a bit as my vision becomes wet. Betrayal does not feel good. I know that now.

I drag my body to its feet and continue in a straight line descending through the grassy path into the light forest at the back of Amanda's mother's shop where I would be spending the night among the palm trees that stretch out in every direction here and the snakes and the bugs and the bats and the spiders. I would be a roommate to the creatures that used to scare me.

I take one last look at the town, letting the images run through my brain; my old life, Amanda my friend, my brother, John. I don't want to leave them, and for a moment I am not so sure, I try to believe I am wrong for running. The danger I felt from him, was it real? , what if those bundles of cash he gave mama and papa were for something else?, Am I wrong for trusting my gut?

Yet, I know that I may be right. I know there is a real chance that I have been bought and paid for. I know I don't want to be a slave or a wife or a mistress or anything that has to do with this man. I know I want to be free. Lastly, I know that even if everything was false, I am already in too deep, I have made papa worried, and I would be punished to papa's satisfaction or to my death.

There is an illusion of choice but only one true path, I must leave and I better hope no one finds me. I bring every last drop of energy I have to the surface and prepare for the last lap out of town when a voice speaks from just about three steps behind me, it says something like "Men are unreliable". I don't need to turn to be able to tell who the speaker is, it is that same unmistakable high-pitched voice. It is him and I can tell he has a gun pointed at me.

If " men are unreliable" is what he said then I agree with him. I also agree with him on something he didn't say. I cannot go down that easy

I sidestep sharply to the right, bending forward in the same motion, twisting my hips and sliding my palms across the ground till I have two hands full of sand

I leap backwards with all the leg strength I have left and launch my payload at his eyes before he can react.

My backwards momentum carries me farther than I intended. I watch in slow motion as the sand particles enter his eyes, forcing them shut. Every part of his body reacts in the intended way except his left hand. Even though the man is blinded, his left hand follows me with pinpoint accuracy, taking aim with his white gun seemingly of its own accord.

A shot is fired once, twice and then six more times, I feel the bullets sail pleasantly through my bones. The answer to a question I never asked out loud finally got its answer. I know now what he is really after, I have figured it out.

The whole world turns white