Liar. thief. traitor. coward. Abducted. abused. Hated. Used. Destroyed.
Inside a cell
I am a prisoner, in a kingdom I never knew about. This kingdom has been isolated from the rest of the world as I know it.
I have never seen the forests, or the mountains, or the oceans, that the guards of my prison cell speak so highly of. They seem to take pride in the kingdom which they live in. I almost wish I could see the beauty that has been so carefully described to me.
But more than anything, I crave freedom. For the past three years, I have been locked in this lifeless cell, away from the tribe I once belonged to, called Rhaviela.
I don’t understand exactly why—I don’t know myself well enough to figure this out, but for the entire time I have been imprisoned, I have clung to some kind of hope that I would one day be freed. Every time I hear any footsteps coming down the steps to the dungeon, that hope makes itself known.
But sadly, the footsteps only ever meant a guard exchange. I wish I could give up on that hope of freedom, but it only seems to grow larger and greater, no matter how far away it may seem.
It baffled me, for every time I heard the light tread of feet coming down the stairs, my ears perked up, and my attention was upon whoever made those footstep sounds, and I was left hoping pointlessly.
I have never spoken to the guards. They’ve threatened me. I don’t have a right to speak. If I ever utter a single word, they’d somehow find a way to make my life more hellish than it already is. But it was like they’ve never thought of simply killing me.
But while they neglected to check what I usually did in the cell, I trained to try to become stronger. I strived to survive the conditions of my living. And even, I tried to fight with and without weapons. I have tried to teach myself how to improvise with a dagger and sword, although I’ve never held a weapon in my life.
I did my best to exercise unnoticed, and I did, all while any of the guards present were either drunk, sleeping, or gambling.
All of the guards are similar, with there cold and icy stares and empty, rotting, dark hearts. I didn’t understand how they were human.
Though I think it seems that they are both lifeless and heartless, I know that in the darkest corner of my small cell, even my life fades from existence.
I was scared.
‘I doubt that the tribe noticed you were ever gone.’
‘Maybe they celebrate your absence.’
‘They think you’re dead.’
‘They believe you’ve abandoned them.’
‘What if you have abandoned your home?’
Voices in my head always spoke to me. They tried to force me to give up on hope. They tried to show me reality. On occasion, it might’ve been just my own thoughts.
Most parts of me believed the voices were telling the truth. Some parts of me resisted from thinking about it. I tried to ignore those voices and thoughts.
A small, naïve part of me believed that some day, I’d freely walk out of the cell. I listened to only those thoughts.
It believed that I could someday return home, and be welcomed with open arms, even though I was not home when I was needed by my tribe.
It was a hopeless and pointless thought, but it was one of the only things that gave me a will to live.
To my surprise, the day actually came where I heard a new voice.
I was almost similar to—if not, then the same voice that belongs to the man who captured me. It was a voice I have not heard since those years ago.
I tried to extinguish any hope, and I ignored him as best as I could. I didn’t want to disappoint myself. Not again.
It took me a moment to notice that he ordered me out of the cell. And to notice that the cell door was standing wide open.
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