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The Locked Box
“Get out! No, you have no right! You have no right!”
The familiar shouting echoed through the walls of the old house. Objects crashed to the ground, shattering like the fragments of a fragile peace that had never truly existed. The tension in the air was suffocating, heavy with anger and resentment.
In her small, dimly lit room, Matilda sat cross-legged on her unmade bed. She didn’t flinch at the noise. She didn’t even turn her head. Her face was emotionless. Without care, she reached for her earphones and plugged them into her ears, drowning out with the loud music.
Who was she to care? It had always been like this.
Matilda was no stranger to pain or despair. She had grown up in the middle of endless battles. As a child, she used to cry, her small frame trembling as she covered her ears with tiny hands. But over time, the tears dried up. She learned to endure, to build walls so high that even the screams couldn’t enter them.
Matilda had locked her heart away at the aged of thirteen.
The “locked box,” as she called it. In her mind, it is a small, heavy box with a rusted lock. Inside, she had stock all her pain, fear, and disappointment. The box had grown heavier over the years, weighed down by memories of harsh words, neglect, and betrayal. She had thrown away the key, or maybe it had disappeared on its own. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
The world outside her room wasn’t worth opening the box for, she thought. Matilda often remembered, the night her father slammed the door for the last time, his voice ringing with accusations. Her mother was left behind with bitterness, took her anger out on the nearest target—Matilda.
“You’re just like him! An idiot! I regret letting you live. You two are just a burden to my life.” her mother would say, her voice was like a venom. So poisonous that can kill you inside.
Matilda wasn’t sure what hurt more: the words themselves or the way they were said.
A rainy afternoon, after the big fight of her parents earlier. Matilda sat by her window, watching the droplets race down the glass. The music in her ears wasn’t enough to drown out the memory of a particularly cruel fight. Her mind wandered to the locked box. She had imagined it so vividly over the years that it felt real— it is a wooden box, its edges worn out and its surface was full with scratches. Inside, she knew, was everything she couldn’t bear to face. Pain, loneliness, jealousy and the sense of unworthiness.
A day had past and It's monday again. Matilda...
The familiar shouting echoed through the walls of the old house. Objects crashed to the ground, shattering like the fragments of a fragile peace that had never truly existed. The tension in the air was suffocating, heavy with anger and resentment.
In her small, dimly lit room, Matilda sat cross-legged on her unmade bed. She didn’t flinch at the noise. She didn’t even turn her head. Her face was emotionless. Without care, she reached for her earphones and plugged them into her ears, drowning out with the loud music.
Who was she to care? It had always been like this.
Matilda was no stranger to pain or despair. She had grown up in the middle of endless battles. As a child, she used to cry, her small frame trembling as she covered her ears with tiny hands. But over time, the tears dried up. She learned to endure, to build walls so high that even the screams couldn’t enter them.
Matilda had locked her heart away at the aged of thirteen.
The “locked box,” as she called it. In her mind, it is a small, heavy box with a rusted lock. Inside, she had stock all her pain, fear, and disappointment. The box had grown heavier over the years, weighed down by memories of harsh words, neglect, and betrayal. She had thrown away the key, or maybe it had disappeared on its own. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
The world outside her room wasn’t worth opening the box for, she thought. Matilda often remembered, the night her father slammed the door for the last time, his voice ringing with accusations. Her mother was left behind with bitterness, took her anger out on the nearest target—Matilda.
“You’re just like him! An idiot! I regret letting you live. You two are just a burden to my life.” her mother would say, her voice was like a venom. So poisonous that can kill you inside.
Matilda wasn’t sure what hurt more: the words themselves or the way they were said.
A rainy afternoon, after the big fight of her parents earlier. Matilda sat by her window, watching the droplets race down the glass. The music in her ears wasn’t enough to drown out the memory of a particularly cruel fight. Her mind wandered to the locked box. She had imagined it so vividly over the years that it felt real— it is a wooden box, its edges worn out and its surface was full with scratches. Inside, she knew, was everything she couldn’t bear to face. Pain, loneliness, jealousy and the sense of unworthiness.
A day had past and It's monday again. Matilda...
