These four walls make up my home. My prison. My sanctuary.

Outside, the world is scary. The city is loud, yet here it is quiet. Outside, there is violent competition for empty prizes. Here, there is everything anyone would ever need.

These four walls make up my home. My confinement. My asylum.

When lightning strikes, it doesn’t bother me. When thunder rumbles, all stays still and silent. When the wind whips or the sun beats down, I remain unbothered in my little corner of the world. I am happy here.

These four walls make up your home. Your prison. Your sanctuary.

I have brought you here; dragged you in like the neighbor’s cat drags in dead birds and mice. You can scream, and no one will hear you. You can cry, but no one will care. When the city is loud and violent, when the weather is cruel, we will be safe here. We will be happy here. And I won’t ever let you leave.

These four walls will make up your home. Your sanctuary. Your grave.