The small room, consist of sofas and windows with no
curtain, is something that he hate. His hatred continues way into the back of
his memory, stored away for nothing or maybe he found its use in moments like
this.
The ruckus continues. His ears cannot bear all the
loud laborious sounds coming from the masters, his masters. His whole body ache, in pain and his head throbbed.
Why must he be in this dreadful room again? Was it the pain? Was it because he
was misbehaving? Will he be thrown off to the street like the last time?
He knows nothing of it but just wait. Pleading with
his eyes, making sounds of pity and in return, he might feel safe. Again.
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