Another week has slipped by, each day carrying its own measure of terror. Sitting down to record this, my hands shake as memories surface. What we’ve endured keeps deepening. The cruelty of our captors feels methodical now, layered with humiliation and deprivation, starvation hanging over us like a constant threat.
Recently, the invaders introduced a new kind of punishment. Not one meant to kill outright, but to dismantle us piece by piece. They seem to savor our suffering, reducing people through public degradation, asserting dominance through calculated cruelty. It is meant to break us, to erase any remaining sense of dignity or resistance.
Hunger has become a weapon. Our bodies weaken as food grows scarce, strength draining slowly but relentlessly. Still, we cling to hope, thin as it is, because letting go feels like surrendering the last thing that belongs to us.
Yesterday, I experienced a moment of degradation so profound that it haunts my every waking thought. I was thrown to the ground and forced onto my knees before one of the alien overlords. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent hunger as he leaned down, his snout inches from my face.
And then, in an act of disgustingness, he licked the entirety of the left side of my face, a gesture that filled me with a sickening sense of revulsion and fear. It was a chilling reminder of our powerlessness.
Fear follows me now, closer than ever. What we’ve seen, what we’ve endured, presses down on my thoughts, threatening to smother the fragile ember of hope I’ve tried to protect.
I worry not only for myself, but for everyone trapped here. The odds feel insurmountable. There are moments when the possibility of survival feels distant, almost unreal.
Still, as long as we draw breath, we must hold on to belief. Even in the darkest stretches, hope remains the one thing they have not yet taken.
And I refuse to let it go.