Prolog

First Rough draft... I am not sure where this story is going yet...

 

My Mental Prison

 

 

 

The tiles are cold on my toes. My breath fogs the air. I am slowing treading my path in the ground. As my blood warms the tiles, I think back on how I came to be facing this slow death in this tomb of comfort.

When I was a child, I always thought my life would flash before my eyes before I died. But I never thought what would happen if I was staring into my death for months. I see silk ropes tying me to this room. Staring into deaths eyes not only flashes my life before my eyes, but so slowly that I reflect and regret every action. Scenarios play out before my eyes. Death begins to write new realities. I have lost my life.

I have pondered every choice and every word that has been uttered from my mouth. I must confess, I have honestly forgotten what is real. Is my life a figment of my imagination or an escape from my true story? My reality has changed like a mirage before my eyes only to warm and disappear. Without a past, what will I become? Am I real or am I a character in this book. Please let me spin the tale of my life before your eyes. As you read my tale, you will determine if I’m real or if I’m a figment of imagination. I leave my life in your hands to live as a person or to die in a story.

While songbirds outside bellow their cheerful tune, my death is slow coming and of my own making.  Their song makes me drift to recreate my memories. I remember when I was a songbird. Many would pay for my company, I choose who to entertain at my please. Money would capture my attention, but a hard smile would keep it. I am educated in weaving deception with my body, mind, and soul.

I was content with my place as a plaything of the wealthy, until he came into my life. His name was Dolos, a low class nobleman with friends in high places. Who was he to demand my presence when he barely had two coins to his name. His family has power to their name, but Dolos? He was just a pawn in the play for power. Though the thoughts that passed through my body when his hard eyes bore down made me want to offer up to confession.

Reflecting on this time, I decided that my downfall was when I was entertaining Uriel. I always thought that Uriel was pure of heart, but now I have learned to doubt. Uriel never tasted my true talent of deception, but he was pleased with closing his eyes and listen to me wrap my songs around him. As ever a gracious host, Uriel offered his guests and I refreshments after I had pleased them with my voice.

I was standing as an ornament to his wealth when a man offered me the strawberry. He had a sharp jaw and smile that looked like it was quick to bite.  He told me that he heard that I was talented not only in song. He was crude. Never have I been propositioned while in a civil engagement. I felt heat rise to my face, and my tongue quicken to rise to his bait. But no, I am a courtesan in the noble quarter. I aim to please and can easily deny him my pleasure.

Alas, I can now reflect on my folly. This is where my doubt begins. What was said in this conversation led to my slow decay.

Two memories swim in my idea and they lead to two different lives. One must be true and another must be an artful deception of my own making. I can't trust my heart nor my mind because these scenarios are running through my head. Who is to say that I didn't create this hell?

Dolos offered my downfall with a slight of words and a strawberry. Did I accept his cruel tongue… As I so often wanted. Or did I deny his offer of power? Am I in this cage from my own making or revenge of a man denied.

My mind is lost. There are mazes of sex and politics rattling in my head. My memory says one thing, but between the lines have I told another? When I say one thing do I mean another. Doubt has wormed its way into my mind, a worm eating its way through my sanity. I plead with you. Tell me my lies. Tell me the truth. Is my memory true?