There is a point where you have prayed enough. When you have suffered enough. It was at this point that Imelda figured out how to pick the lock on her bedroom door.

The sound of the door creaking rattled in her ears. Carefully, she felt along the walls. She headed for what she remembered was the front door.

She couldn't see anymore. Years locked up in the darkness, her eyes were mere pinpricks in her face. She could hear the sound of breakfast being prepared. Hear the sound of their voices as they laughed. The sizzle of bacon.

She remembered bacon. Once.

The door opened and she felt the fresh breeze. Beyond she knew there were woods. She'd seen them as they drove her to the farm. She'd seen the trees reaching out with dying hands as if to warn her.

She ran, using her hands to guide her. Not knowing where she was going but knowing that anyplace was better than this.