Day one: L wakes with a start, knowing something wrong, he is not in his apartment being faced with his terrible stalker Clover. He’s in a cave? He groans, his chest spasming in pain as he pushes himself into a sit. Only to come face to face.. with a statue of some sort. He scurries back. His head banging against a wind chime.. Wind chime? No, dream catcher, with bones? What is this, it doesn’t matter.. it’s part of.. that culture. Again his hand brushes up against something, A book? Nope. He flinches away as if it burns him and he staggers to a stand.. Only to hear the crunch of something beneath his feet. A skeleton. He shudders and turns..  to see a shrunken head. He feels his heart coming to a thudding stop in his chest. He lets out another yell, only this time in pain. He tries to get away but body collides with bars. He’s trapped. He’s a prisoner. He’s alone.

In the book found he writes:

I’ve been scared very few times in my life.

The last time, I was eleven years old.. And about to die.

Today I am 35. In a week, I am 36. And I don’t know If I will see that age.

I always figured my heart would get the best of me. That I would have a heart attack after a stressful shift in the HGH and I would just die doing what I loved.

It’s not the case.

It’s a weird thing, coming to terms with your own death.

Especially when it’s sooner than you thought it would be.

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Day two: L is given one bottle of water and some sort of sandwich, its meat.. though what kind of meat is questionable. He’s taunted by a purple haired woman with scarred eyes and an affinity for biting. He knows this is one of the ones that captured him. The taunting femme fatal is a far cry from Clover. He missed her. He’d take her over this madness. He tries to reason with the woman, to let him out, promises money, drugs, help, anything in return. But after she gets bored, she leaves.

Alone again he grabs for the book and writes in the blank pages at the back:

I know they’re keeping me here for some kind of ritual, the last time I got this close to someone of.. that kind; My heart were nearly torn from my chest.

They refer to me as the white rhino. As if I am some rare creature to be protected.. But I know they wish to cultivate what they believe to be the ultimate power.

I am a ghost child.

I can not escape this label, it will follow me.

If I had been born without albinism, I would have a different label. ‘Ghost’ would be traded for ‘Nigga'.

I would not have the mentally deranged trying to cut my brain or heart out.

My blood would not be worth it’s salt.

I would be a normal african american.

Normal.

What is that like?