Page 46 of A Blackened Bond

What could they possibly gain by imprisoning me here?

My thoughts flicker to the malicious side of things, and a cold shiver works its way down my body, with all the dark ‘what if’s taking over.

I shake my head, trying to brush them away and focus on something else. Anything else.

A slight humming noise rings out from the wall to my right, a light melody playing out as I take a small breath and calm myself.

Someone was there and in the cell next to mine. The thought instantly settles me.

I wasn’t alone here.

I creep over toward the wall, leaning my ear against it as I listen to the soft-growing melody. I refuse to give up hope. Someone would come. Someone would realise I’m missing soon.

I pull my knees up to my chest, my shaking hands wrapping around them as I flick my gaze between the floor and the cell door.

The ‘guards’ here patrolled outside regularly. They wore dark navy uniforms with weapons attached to their clothes, butthere was no insignia or symbol identifying them or the people they worked for.

They all seemed sinister, their gazes leery and voices full of sadistic glee as they moved outside the cell.

They put thick, heavy shackles on my wrists, the cold metal sitting tightly against my skin and making me feel weak and dizzy at times.

I could hear their heavy footfall outside each day, their raised or chuckling voices filled with malice as they opened the cell doors around me, pulling others from their rooms and barking orders or insults as they make their way down the corridor with them.

They would take them somewhere…but never mention where or why.

It would be hours or almost a day before they return, and the sound of someone being thrown back into their room is heard.

I hadn’t been taken yet.

And each day, my mind would race with the thoughts of when they’ll come for me and what they’re taking me for. Or what they would do to me…

With every sound that comes from outside the cell, my body jumps and flinches, worrying if they were coming for me…to do whatever they planned.

My fingers brush across my neck, my throat feeling dry and scratchy, an ache I gained from shouting and screaming for help the first few days of arriving here.

No matter how loud I shouted, or for how long, nobody came to help.

The guards didn’t seem to care much, either. But maybe that was a good thing.

The guards here…the way they looked at me…I didn’t want them coming into my cell.

Footsteps from outside drag my thoughts back. I curl further into a tight ball as the cell door unlocks and a guard steps inside.

I keep my eyes closed tight, my body racked with tremors as I hear him scoff and throw something to the ground before leaving.

Only after I hear his footsteps fully fade into the distance do I peek out through my arms and toward what he’s thrown on the ground.

I reach for the small mould-ridden bun and begin to take small nibbles from the areas with fewer green spots.

I quickly learned that you didn’t get to choose your meal here. If they remembered to feed you or decided to let you eat, then you had to take it or would starve.

The first time they threw in the green-spotted bread, I turned away from it, unwillingly to eat the gone-off offering. But days later, more mould had grown on top of the hard bun, making me realise there wouldn’t be anything else given until it was gone.

If I didn’t eat, I’d starve. And I couldn’t just give up and die.

Most days were the same. I curled myself into a ball, making myself as small and insignificant as I could, hoping they wouldn’t take me. I would lean against the wall and get as far from the cell door and guards as I could, and I would listen to the sound of light humming from the cell to my right. The voice slightly soothed me and broke me from the fear for a while.

The guards come once a day, or whenever they felt like it, to throw my mouldy offering in or a dirty bowl of water my way.

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