Chapter 1: Aurora

Aurora

I am unsure if I am sane�"if I have ever been sane. Have I always been mad? Or was it them who made me this way? The ones who took me. The ones who dissected my mind and infested my thoughts, stealing my memories of who I was before… before what? 

I can't remember. Surely, I was someone. I just can’t recall. I've been held in this dungeon for so long.

So… so long.

My back rests against the solid stone. The small confines they entrapped me in are infested with overgrown roots and vines. There’s a mosaic of sketches on every square inch of this cell. Jagged white lines of scribbled nonsense. I ran out of canvas space long ago, forcing me to layer them�"overlapping, creating a blurred, chaotic mess even I can’t decipher.

Yet, one image stands out among the aggressive disarray of sketches. Amid the tangle of lines, I can make out the illustration of a rising sun hovering above the figure of a faceless woman. She stands tall and glorious, untouched by the demons clawing and screaming, killing their way toward her, but they never reach her. She remains unscathed, the epitome of victory�"the savior of her people. The faceless woman haunts my dreams, resurfacing in my hallucinations. 

I feel something damp and warm drip down the side of my stomach. Blood has seeped through my fresh set of bandages. I unwrap the soaked cloth to assess the damage. The Doctors always do a sloppy job of patching me up. Wounds become easily infected in a place like this. Unfortunately for me, I heal fast enough before any diseases can kill me.

S**t. I popped open a stitch. 

Should I sacrifice the scraps of what barely passes as a blanket and endure the bitter cold of the night and use it as a make-shift bandage? Or do I just let myself bleed out here and end the torment.

I wish it was possible. I can’t die. I’ve tried. 

My body refuses to shut down no matter how much I pray for it all to be over.

I stare at the red liquid as it trickles into the cracks of the stone, spreading like a river flowing down and around until it pools with the tiny puddle of water.  

Hm. What an ugly shade of red.

I crawl across the room,  reaching for the tattered cloth. I pull onto the fabric, a long strand tears at the seams. In the far right corner of the cell, water drips from the ceiling. I muster whatever strength I have to reach over to wet the torn piece of fabric. Even the smallest of movements leaves me panting, exhaustion sweeping over me. 

I wrap the bandage around my torso, knotting it tightly. The salt water sends a burning tingling sensation throughout my body. I take long breaths, controlling my breathing until the stinging pain subsides into a dull throb. The Doctors won’t be back until next week, so this will have to suffice until then.

I slump back against the cool stone, squirming to get in a more comfortable position.

The drip drip drip rings in my ear, staring back at the puddle blankly.
As I gaze into the contaminated water, I can see visions of a stranger. She’s staring back at me, mirroring my movements. There’s a sense of familiarity to her, like I have seen her in my hallucinations or dreams or possibly even a memory. I don’t have very many memories before I came to this place. But when I look deeper into the child’s eyes, there’s something so familiar.

She has soft, milky skin touched by a drop of sun; long waves of silky golden hair brushed to perfection. And wide, youthful eyes that resemble the transition of spring to summer, warm and full of life.

I wonder who this girl is. I wonder if she ever had a family. If there were people in her life who treated her like she was the center of their world. If there were people out there who loved her. If there are people out there looking for her. Or if she was tossed out and disowned by the people she trusted most.

My attention snaps back into reality as the sound of iron gates clang open, slicing my thoughts like a blade. Heavy boots echo from down the hallway. The dangling keys clatter together, their sound growing louder with each approaching step.

What are they doing back so soon? It has barely been twenty-four hours since my last surgery. My eyes dart back and forth as the soul sucking dread festers in the pit of my stomach.

The faint glow of the lantern reflects against the glossy stone as they walk through the inky dark halls. My head throbs, feeling as if a long sharp needle penetrated through my brain.

I exhale, my lungs rattle. No matter how many times I try to prepare myself for what's to come, it's never enough. My heart is racing, fear freezing me in place.

Four tall figures stand in front of the bars of my cell door. I watch them insert the key�"the object of my salvation and a far reach from my unobtainable freedom. It twists open. The slow, heavy door groans, opening my gateway to another day of torment. 

They are always dressed in all white, from head to toe�"clean scrubbed, and wearing bright blue rubber gloves. Two of The Doctors step forward to secure my restraints. They force me up from the ground, digging their gloved fingers into my arms. We walk deeper into the maze of tunnels as they drag me, carrying most of my dead weight because I can barely hold myself up. Two of the doctors walk behind us, guarding me as if I would make a run for it. I've only ran once, years ago, and I came to deeply regret it.

Please, please take me somewhere else�"anywhere but here. I beg that the separation from my mind to body eases my suffering, but it never lasts long enough to distract me from the pain.

Think about something, Aurora, anything to take us away from here. My thoughts race as I try to find that place of peace. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut. My mind drifts away at each step I take, disconnecting from my physical self. My bare feet no longer feel the rough gravel digging into my toes.

I breathe deeply. 

Inhale, and exhale.

I see a garden of light. This oasis, this haven that I've dreamed of every time I close my eyes and slip away from my living hell. It’s real. It has to be real, and I have to find it. I have to find her. The faceless goddess�"where did she go?

The four masked doctors guide me through the passageway. I’ve memorized every turn. Ten steps from my cell, take a right�"forty paces ahead, and then another right. Two lefts until you reach the end of the hall, and we arrive at The White Room.

A suffocating room of bare, blinding white concrete. This is the only time where I am taken out of darkness and overwhelmed with this hideous feeling of insanity. This room is cold, heartless, and unsettling, and I hate it. 

In the center is a metal table, restraints bolted onto each corner. There’s a nearby tray of gleaming scalpels and serrated blades directly next to the table. 

They strip off my nightgown and remove the make-shift bandage. I watch them toss it into a trash bin that's labeled ‘Hazard’.

I climb onto the surface, the cold metal stinging my exposed skin. I look up and down�"my bound wrists and ankles have me sprawled out like a piece of livestock, inspecting which part of me is the richest of meat to sell.

I used to resist at first. I’d thrash and scream and resist them at every chance I got. I was strong for a child. But my relentless disobedience only made my punishments harsher. They broke me down and gave me time to heal, only to torture me again. They knew that I wouldn’t survive continuous torture as a child. So they fed me full meals and gave me enough nutrients until I was strong enough to be dissected again. 

And again. 

And again.

Until I stopped fighting.

Now, I don’t even bother praying for freedom. I only pray that the next meal still comes. That the water isn’t withheld this time. That I wake up tomorrow in one piece. 

My prayers aren’t always answered.

I keep my eyes shut�"the artificial light is too painful to look at.

I feel gloved hands poke and prod as I lay there, unable to move. Something cold and wet touches my skin. They’re cleaning off the blood. I feel something tug and pull�"they removed the stitches. I think they took my left lung yesterday. The week before, my liver. I wonder what today will be.

My curiosity pops like a bubble as soon as I hear the shrieking growl of a chainsaw. The whir of spinning teeth sends vibrations through my bones as I realize it’s going to be cutting through mine.

Author's Note

Thoughts?

Reviews

[JayG]

One of the problems we face as writers is that our intent, and pre-knowledge of the situation we’re writing about tends to make us leave out details that readers need for context, because we don’t.

Look at the opening, not as the all-knowing author, but as a reader, who has ony what the words suggest, based on THEIR life-experience.

• I have never been embraced by the warmth of the sun.

Beginning with things that haven’t happened is not the best intro. Better to begin with what is.

• Light has never touched my skin or soul, and I yearn for daylight

Yet you later talk about this person using chalk, and apparently dreaming with sight working. So, this doesn’t track.

• I've dreamt of her, though. My sunlight.

The antecedent is daylight, which cannot be thought of a “her.” And that aside, as phrased, it appears that the protagonist is seeing an unknown “her” as their sunlight. Again, doesn’t track. In fact, you later say, "I forget what seasons look or feel like." The only way to forget is to have seen them, which includes sunlight.

And that, too, aside, you included a poetic paragraph that tells the reader nothing meaningful because we don’t know where and when we are, or why. We don’t know our age, background or situation. So facts we’re given, but the single most important thing, getting the reader to connect, emotionally, to the protagonist is never addressed. It’s all you talking to the reader, mostly about things meaningless because they lack context.

See how different the reader’s perception of the situation is from yours? Lat me add to that, one more thing: The chapter is 1404 words long, or more than the first four standard manuscript pages. But:

Do we know our name, age, gender, location in time and space? aspirations? Short term scene-goal? How nd why we're where we are, and who the people in the story are? No. So we have data, yes, but we have no context that would make it meaningful

Complicating it further, because you’re transcribing yourself storytelling, you place the reader into an impossible situation. For the story to work, for them,the reader must reproduce your performance, both visually and audibly, because the storyteller, who replaces the actors on the screen, is substituting their performance for those actors. And without you, the reader has a storyteller’s script with no performance notes.

What we all forget is that on the page we DO have all those actors. And, we have a powerful tool at our disposal. We can take the reader into the mind of the protagonist, and make them feel as if they are the protagonist, living the events in real-time.

And to help do that we have another immensely powerful tool: The reader learns of everything that’s said and done, first. And, they react to it first. So...if we make the reader know the protagonist as well as they know themselves; if they know the protagoniost's personality quirks, their background, capabilities, resources, needs and imperatives, and the situation in all respects, the reader will react as-the-protagonist-is-ABOUT-to.

Then, when the protagonist seems to agree, and does what the reader has decided they should, the protagonist will become the reader’s avatar, their thinking and actions paralleling those of the reader.

And in THAT lies the joy of reading—and incidentally, that of writing.

Try that book I suggested on the basics of fiction. I’m betting that what you learn there, from Mr. Swain, has more clarity, and impact on you than any of your teachers will. I’m also betting that the result will be better grades and your teacher commenting on how well you write. And I say that because it’s happened in the past to some I’ve recommended that book to.

The link: https://dokumen.pub/techniques-of-the-selling-writer-0806111917.html

[Isabelle S.]

I see, it started out as just a random writing exercise so there is no direction or setting of the story-more so about practicing the quality of my writing. But definitely want to learn how to world-build and write young adult fantasy stories :)