I stare at the wall, thinking about a window in that very place. Through the thick, cold cement, I could almost see grass, flowers, trees, the sky. Oh, how beautiful that sky would be; all blue and clear, as bright and cheerful as the day I had last set my eyes on it. At least, as bright as I thought it would have been. The sky was never dark, was it? My window looked out into the perfect little valley of eternal spring, and I loved it.
But why would there be a window, in a room with only the four cold walls? The hard floor, a rusted cot, a sink? When the last time I had seen the real sky was almost longer ago than I could remember? My window wasn’t real, but it was my escape. The only thing that could save me from the certain insanity that these four walls could give.
To me, grass, sky, flowers, these were things of imagination. Nothing real, nothing to touch, hold. Love. Love was something that seemed to elude me as well. And I knew that nobody loved me either. Nobody cared, nobody even knew I was alive. Nobody knew the torture I had to endure, day after day, night after night. All the while wishing that I was dead.
I had lived in this dingy room for most of my life. Who knew who my mother was, my father, or if they even existed. Did they now the mess their daughter lived in? The filthy, pigsty-like room that I knew to be my home? Or did they even know they had a daughter? Probably not, or they would have found me by now. Wouldn’t they?
My hair and face were disgusting, dirty, matted with grim and blood. My blood. The rags I wore could never cover the awful wounds that covered my skin like the lice in my hair. But I didn’t know anything else. Never. For all I knew, this was life. And I wished that it would end, like a horrible nightmare always does. But, isn’t that what sets life apart from a nightmare? Or a dream?
I knew next to nothing of the world outside my prison. They only slit of light I had filtered in from under the heavy door, and I dreaded the night, when the only light went out. When he would come, with his thick leather belt, and his cold heart. The angry scars on my back are proof enough of that.
There used to be a woman…I never knew who she really was, though she used to call herself Lynae. She would come during the day, and she had a light. Such brightness. She would hold it in her hand, and it cast shadows over her face as she told me stories. She would tell me of things I had never known, things of such wonder. She would explain what things meant. It was only because of her that I knew what grass looked like, what a flower was, the smell of fresh air. Not the grimy, dirty air that you would breathe in my crypt, the air that smelt like smoke, but warm, sweet air. She was kind, brought me clothes, food, washed my face. Taught me to read. I thought of her as my mother.
But now she’s gone.
I guess I’ll never know what happened to her. I asked once, but they only hit me harder for daring to speak. I haven’t seen her since I was a little girl. Probably as well. I didn’t need things in life to want. To hope for.
But there was one thought I could not cleans from my mind. A single word I had heard often, the meaning as foreign to me as sweet air or colour; escape. The thought of leaving my little stone hole, and seeing colour, plants, life, was almost too much to resist. But I knew I could never do it. I was weak.
I had had heard it first from the men who stood by the door to my cell in the daytime, speaking with worried whispers about me escaping. After hearing that word, I had puzzled over it for hours, wondering what it could mean.
Do real people have to escape? Did that mean that they didn’t live in a cell? Had someone taken them away from their Room, or are they born without these four concrete walls around them? I never thought about it until then.
So I asked Lynae. She should know. She knew the real world, and she knew how it worked. She told me that escape meant that I wouldn’t have to sit in my Room. I could go mostly where I wanted, meet whoever, talk to everyone. To me, that sounded like fantasy. Something impossible to achieve.
But I so wanted it.
(A/N Well, was that ok? Please comment on it and tell me what you thought, because I worked really hard on this. Even if you absolutly hated it, just comment. Please?)
© Copyright 2016 WrittenHope. All rights reserved.
Book / Fantasy
Book / Other
Book / Thrillers
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