Prisoner

Everyday life passes as I lean against the cold glass pane within my bedroom. The heavy traffic passing with no idea of my entrapment within my family home.
Im a young boy - a twelve year old who use to go to school and was quite bright, and I never spoke out of line to anyone.
When I was seven my father died in a car accident, and of course my mother missed him, but she had to move on - well - that's what she told me anyway.
We now live with Darren. He pays for everything. He even told my mum to give up her nursing - I heard him, he was the jealous type, he insisted she gave up work so other men wouldn't look at her.
My room is like a place where the bad people go when policemen take them away, only seeing the door open for a scrap of food handed through. All my toys and games were taken from me too. They were bad for me - he said. Instead I work. School work, only Im not in school. Maybe he took me out of school because he was afraid that someone would see the bruises from his heavy hands when he gets mad, or notice the despair within my eyes when I look at them. You're probably thinking the obvious - climb out the window. I thought of that, but my window's too high. He also put a lock on it to stop me opening it. I can't bang on the window either. He said if I did then, well, he would hurt my mother. You'll probably thinking; why doesn't my mother do something? If I were you; I would too, but he's a psychotherapist - one word from my mum and she'll end up back in the hospital - where she met him.
My mum was in the hospital not long after my dad died. She couldn't cope. I was there for her and other relatives were too, but now we've moved to America, we only have him.
Days, then nights move. Different faces on the busy streets and the blanket of lights from the busy city lights my room.
Every morning and every night I look out of my window. A little hope that someone might glance up and notice the despair within my eyes. But I know that's not going to happen. I know because we live in an appartment, eight floors high. Knowone will ever beable to see the despair within my eyes. I count every day. He forgets that I won't always be a child - maybe I'll become as big as him, or maybe even bigger - but I know, when I do, that he will pay...