Target #1: Prisoner

A Chapter by Nichole Angela

January's story unfolds...

I am a prisoner of my own thoughts and fate.

I envy those birds that can freely glide in the sky. I envy those leaves that are being caressed by the gentle breeze. I envy those insects that are being embraced by the warm sunlight. I envy animals that can enjoy the coldness of the running water. I envy those plants that live in the comfortable earth. I envy people and their normal lives. I envy all living things that experience the blessing of seasons; the warmth of summer, the bountifulness of spring, the nostalgia of fall, the frigidness of winter.

Freedom is no longer my friend. Instead, it is the one that binds and pulls me down. It drags me to the chasm of false hopes.

I still wonder how I am still here--breathing, thinking, suffering--alive.

I don’t know how long I've been here or what day is it now. I've lost track of time. I no longer care, grew tired to be exact. Inquiring about time just frustrates me even more.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad thing that my sanity is still intact. It’s starting to gain cracks but it is still far from breaking. I’m sure of it. How I wish it would shatter already so that I can be finally freed from this torment but as I said, freedom is not on my side. I want to snap but I cannot, YET.

Why ______?

I used to have many questions but now, only the word “why” remains. It’s no use asking when no one can answer it. In every wall that my eyes can wander on, not even one holds any clue. So in the end, those questions piles up only to be buried deep inside me until it withers away.

I sit on the cold floor with silence as my company in this place of endless punishment. A dim light provides for a bit of comfort, but it’s not enough. Not enough to clear away all the years taken away from me. Not enough to wipe away the loneliness and pain, absolutely not enough to take it all away.

I was afraid at first. I tremble. I panic. I cry. But soon, I grew weary of all that. They were all useless in the end. I just remain silent while staring in the wall, floor, my hands, or sometimes, in my prison’s door. Waiting until it opens.

The sound of metal my metal shackles brushing against the pavement broke the silence when I used my semi-bony finger to write on the floor’s dust. Another reminder that something is robbed off me again�"my freedom. I thought of writing my name on the floor but I ended up scribbling unknown figures.

Why don’t you write your name? You love your name right?

I USED to LIKE it. I don’t want to. It just reminds me of the life that I can never have.

A life that you still want to have.

Yes. Probably.

I stared on the scars and bruises on my hand, the same as the ones all over me. It matches my tattered dress. I remember seeing it before as white but now, I’m used to seeing it grey.

Scars without honor. They are born not an inch close to valor or saving people.

You would much have been happier if it’s the other way around. At least, it has worth.

Yes. But now it’s a memento. A symbol of how pathetic and helpless I am.

Reality slaps me hard. No need to dream of something it can never be. They are mere evidences of my none-sense suffering.

I hugged my knees. They were at least warm in contrast to the cold floor. The difference in temperature pricks my skin but when I plunged my head on my knees, I immediately fell into a dreamless slumber.

“January.” I was pulled out of sleep when I heard someone call my name. I raised my head only to wince at the sudden brightness that greeted me when I did so. A man in black military uniform blocks the now open door�"a thick wall in the first layer and sturdy looking metal bars at the second layer�"one or two meters away from me. Due to the white corridor, accompanied by bright white lights, behind him, I cannot figure out his face.

“Lunch.” His voice was stern and devoid of any concern for me. He was only here to execute the orders given to him and nothing else.

He slid the tray in his hand on the smooth floor towards me. It halted right in front of me.

“I will be back to fetch you later for your task.” With those last words, he scooted away. The door shut as I was left alone once more. I’m used to people leaving me behind. I’ve been alone for a long time now.

I stared at the food in front of me. As always it was plain. Plain like my life.

The same lineup of meal for months. In front of me was a cup of rice (always not warm but not that cold either), a bowl of white soup that I am not aware of, a small chicken and a glass of cold water.

I’m tired of this.

Eat it or starve to death. Complaining won’t get you anywhere. At least there is a chicken.

Yeah right. A petty part of chicken.

Just be thankful.

Thankful for keeping me here and feed me the same food over and over? Fine.

I slowly reached over the disposable spoon and fork and started eating. With luck not on my side, the plastic spoon broke with a crack that echoed in my room as I used it to get a portion of the bony chicken. I sighed. That’s why I dislike using disposables. They are too fragile for convenience. With no much choice left, I am forced to eat my food with my hands. I slurped the soup since there are no other ingredients anyway, just plain liquid. The cold water gave a soothing feeling as it ran down to my dry throat. I want more but as always, that’s all I can get, a mere tickle on my starving throat. I am used to it.

I pushed the empty tray aside before hugging my knees again. I stared at my right hand for a moment before closing my eyes.

They are afraid of me.

No, they are afraid of what you can do.

That’s the same. What I can do is part of who I am.

I took a deep breath before opening my eyes again.

I guess there is a reason for them to fear me. I am not normal. That fact and my ability became their target of interest. That’s why I am cursed to be here.

A small but bright amber flame dances on my clammy palm. It was so bright and warm. I can stare at it forever. It calms me and gives me a feeling of being safe.

It’s beautiful but that, like all things, is short-lived. It is like a butterfly that has only seven days to live.

The flame flickered before completely vanishing. I found myself left alone once again. Alone with no one to talk to. Alone without anyone to sit beside me. Alone without no one to gaze at. Alone with nothing but myself in these cold, dimly lit, and lonely room. Caged to suffer in solitude.

A miserable fate inflicted by my own strengths and weaknesses.

My memories may now be clouded and hazy, but I’m somehow sure that I am not like this before. I am not originally an emo and I am always surrounded by people. I remember talking to a boy almost all the time but I can no longer recall his face. I have this certain yearning to see him for a long time now. He was the one who gives me the strength to pull through all this.

That’s why I have to live…until I see him again and say “thank you”.

My cell opened and the man from before delivered his news to me. “January, you are being called to the lab.”

I want to become myself and regain my life before all of these. And the first step towards that goal is…to regain my freedom.

I slowly stood up to accomplish my task.

Today is special.

How can you tell?

I don’t know. I just feel that way.

Then what are your plans?

If my instincts are right, I will definitely use this opportunity to make a change.

© 2013 Nichole Angela

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Featured Review

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I can definitely sense the drudgery and depression your character is experiencing. And the ending left me wondering what was going to happen next! It just needs some editing for spelling. Also, you switch back and forth between present and past tense a couple of times. I think this story has a lot of potential.