It was time. I'd waited years for this moment, 9 long years to be exact. I would be able to tell you how many days as well, I've been counting them off but right now I'm too excited. They are finally going away, I'm not sure how long for but I know it will be enough. Maybe they are getting another soul to torment. Maybe I'm too frail for them now.

My job at first was simple, I sat here doing what I wanted until one of them came down after they'd been to work. They never came down together, I think one had to keep watch in case I ran. I can't run now, It's too painful. They would usually give me a stack of letters to write. My fingers going numb against the rough side of the pencil. I used the words "help me" so many times, but really I knew it would do no good. Every time I wrote I would feel hope, it welled up in my chest until I couldn't bear it any more.

"They will come for me!" I would say.

They wouldn't even speak to me. It took so much effort to make the words come out of my dry, crisp mouth. The only thing that gave me strength was the hope, but deep down I knew the truth. Nobody cared about me being trapped, nobody cared if I lived or died.

I kept my sanity well enough. The night was always the best way to do this, I would look out the crack in the wall and watch the stars, knowing they were watching me too. I would also write, I didn't think I would ever enjoy writing, everyday for the last 9 years I had to write the ransom notes, yet I couldn't help my passion. I would always save one piece of paper from the pile I was given to write a diary, this diary, they never noticed it was missing. At first I was just hoping to use it as evidence but I soon grew to think of it as my journey, the story I would tell people the day I escaped. The story I would tell people today.

My diary wasn't exciting, nothing happens during the day, but it was interesting to write down my thoughts and my dreams. I wake up at night after a dream and lie there thinking. It's hard to decide which dreams are good and which are nightmares when you're living in a hell like this. The white walls close around me, sucking the small amount of light coming from the crack. Then there's the silence, it chokes you, taking your own breath and turning it into a scream. A scream no-one can hear. The silence presses against your eardrums, my brain craves to break it but my dry lips are glued shut.

However, nothing compares to the damp and the smell. Only the crack can take away the smell of urine and filth. I haven't showered in 9 years, except in the drips that appear in the roof during heavy rain. Yet somehow I still hate the drips, surprising really since there my only water source other than the pint of water I am given a day, but it leaves everything so wet. Without light there is no way the water will dry, it leaves puddles on the floor which I usually slip on, it get's so dark so quickly that I spend all my time sitting in the corner, watching. Watching what? I still don't know, sometimes I will look through the crack watching for any movement, anything that will tell me I will soon be free. Sometimes I watch my kidnappers, watching for any change in their voice or in their action and sometimes I just watch the stairs.

The stairs are huge, there are only 13 steps but to me each is four metres high. Only one of the steps creaks, the 2nd one from the top. When my kidnappers walk down, the creak wakes me. It's my alarm, it has become the first sound in the morning when I wake up and the sound I dread. The only other sound that I occasionally hear is my breathing getting louder, but I used to fear that would stop all together. Until today, my breathing has increased but that is because I'm nervous. For the last few months I've been watching something else, I watched my kidnappers acting more excited, I watched as they would forget to bring down my food. I felt the atmosphere sizzle, as something was getting closer. I listened today as they said they would just let me die, it was too expensive to feed me. They never said they would be going away, they hadn't realised I knew, they hadn't realised I'd been watching. I knew they were going away, and I knew there was no-one coming to feed me. The suns rising, it is time.

Later...

It's now light. It took longer to escape than I planned, I wanted to leave in the early morning but it's now 4 o clock and I don't want to leave until it’s darker. So now I am at a desk in a gloomy room. I'm afraid of the light. This morning I walked up the steps, my bones creaked as I climbed each step counting them as I went. It took ages to climb them. The door never seemed to get closer, I imagined myself stretching out and grabbing the gold handle in my pale, curled fingers. I could imagine the dark oak swinging forward into the dazzling sunlight but I couldn't climb fast enough, my clothes clung to me so tightly I could see my own heart charging against my ribs faster than I could have dreamed of. I was working again. For years I had sat in the dark, too weak to stand, too small to lift my own weight, there was no life in me. The stair creaked for the last time.

I stood in front of the door and grabbed the handle, dots spun in front of my eyes as I leant on the banister to keep myself steady. I wanted to open the door dramatically, but I was desperate for food so I pushed it heavily. It wouldn't budge. I felt like crying, but I was so shocked I could only stand there watching the door. I had forgotten they locked it. I must of spent ages looking at the door as the faint light shining from underneath got brighter, sending a waft of fresh air around my cold, shrivelled feet. They never gave me socks or any new clothes as a matter of fact. I still wore the same clothes I had on that day. A denim skirt that used to be long and baggy on me, that was when I was 9 though. My t-shirt was pink with a kitten drawn on it, though now it was stretched cutting into me and leaving my arms marked and sore.

I looked back down on the basement floor, it looked like a tomb. That’s when I noticed it. There was someone on the other side of the door; I could see their dark shape silhouetted against the gap at the bottom. I leaned close to the door and listened at the click of a lock. It broke the silence. I felt the strength in me increase as my hopes rose. I pushed the door again and it flew open, I tumbled to the floor and shielded my eyes from the light. I stayed on the floor waiting for my eyes to adjust to the scorching light. 9 years in the dark is torture, but not as bad as 9 years in the dark followed by instant sunlight.

Eventually I looked up; my breath came out like waves crashing against the shore, crashing against the pure air. There was no-one in the hallway. I hadn't heard any footsteps walking away, maybe I was delirious, I hadn't eaten in so long. Yet I was still puzzled at how the door opened. I couldn't bear to turn around and look into the empty hole where my home was. I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled forward along the moon white corridor. There were no windows until I got to the end of the corridor and into the first empty room. The kitchen. I had passed many doors and even the front door but I knew my goal. I tried looking out the window but it stung so bad I had to draw the curtains and look back around at the room. It was so clean. I headed straight for the fridge and grabbed the only thing in there, fruit. I grabbed a banana as I knew it was soft and pealed away the skin and chucked it on the floor. I'd forgotten about bins until just now when I was writing. I looked at the colour; it was bright against my skin and felt warm against my rough fingers. I took a bite and felt myself sinking into a world of flavour, my stomach didn't know what to do with it. I wanted to retch but I kept it down and ate 2 more. I couldn't get any more into my shrunken stomach. I had only eaten cereal, bread and chicken for the last 9 years. My stomach wasn't used to such luxuries. I had to stop in the end and sit down, I felt more awake than I had in so long.

I stayed sitting in the chair for ages, the plump cushions softening my aching bones. My feet pressed against the hard tiles. I looked around and saw the sink, my mouth whined for a drink. I stood up and drank straight from the tap, not caring about a glass or anything. The water splashed against my throat freezing my lips and colouring them a rosy red. I wiped it off my cheeks and turned off the tap, the metal stinging my fingers with its harsh texture. I saw the phone. I walked up to it and put my hand against the black receiver wanting to call for help. I may have been trapped for 9 years but I knew the number for the police. I couldn't call them though, my kidnappers are police. Who would believe I had been kidnapped by 2 police officers? It just shows who you can trust. I had trusted them when they offered me a lift home, and now I was in their home, eating their food. It had become my home too.

I looked at the clock, it was 2 o'clock already. I had been sitting on the chair for so many hours. I walked down the corridor my hand rubbing against the wall as I kept myself stable. I opened the first door I came across and walked into a bathroom, I smiled for the first time. I felt like a real person again. I was still a 9 year old, I hadn't been able to grow up. After using the toilet, I looked at the shower. The light gleamed off the tiles, the sliding doors reflected my limp, greasy hair. I made up my mind and went back into the hallway and through the next door, courage suddenly filled me with excitement as all the sights and smells made the place feel more familiar.

I had walked into a simple bedroom, luckily it was dark, I still wasn't used to the light. I walked straight to the corner and stood facing a wardrobe. It was big and solid, the last time I had used a wardrobe was when I was trying on my mum’s clothes. A lump came to my throat as I wondered if she had missed me. I opened the cupboard and started searching for anything I could wear other than these stinging clothes. I settled for a pair of jeans and a formal shirt. I knew I would be too small and thin for them, but at least they weren't age 9.

I took the clothes and went back and got undressed for the shower, I turned it on and suddenly jumped back as the burning water cut into my skin like tiny daggers. Dirt poured off me splashing my feet and turning the white into black. I braved the water once again, being pushed down by the force of a normal shower. I eventually managed to stay under the water long enough to be able to see my feet uncovered by the dark sludge. I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a soft pink towel, it gently stroked my skin, taking away the water and leaving my skin soft and dry. I got changed into my new clothes and stood for a while letting the clean smell dance around me and make me feel like I mattered.

That's how I ended up sitting here, I also took a pair of shoes from the cupboard. I don't feel guilty about stealing, after all they stole from me. Both her and her husband stole away my life, I've spent 9 years without a life, doing nothing. Seeing nothing. I'm not sure what to do with myself now, I know where to go but not how to get there. You are probably wondering why I don't just call my parents, but when you are 9 you usually don't know you're number. However, I know where I lived. If I lean back and close my eyes I can remember my pre-school days.

"For the 9th time girl, what is your address?" My teacher would ask.

"I don't remember" I always replied, I could never remember.

"It's number 9..." my memory would twitch at that stage as I was coaxed on

"Number 9 Maple Lane!"

That was the first time I ever got it right, since then I haven't forgot it. I somehow need to find my way home, but I'm still worried. What if they find me? What if my parents have moved? What if they don't recognize me? What if I get lost? Or what if I don't have enough supplies to get me there? I need to stop worrying about the "what if's" though. I don't know what will happen next, as long as I take it a step at a time and don't miss any gaps.

Filling in this part of my diary has taken longer than I expected. It's starting to get dark, I need to plan. I will grab a bag from somewhere and fill it with supplies, and my diary of course. I'm hoping I will come across a cab. It's amazing how my mind has caught up with me, my body is experiencing all these human things and my mind is opening up to this new world. The basement is a dark memory hidden away in a corner in the depths of my mind, hiding away all the tears and sorrow and drowning them in a whirlpool of the past. The only thing now is to move forward and take the next step out the door. It's now dark.