Silhouette dreams 1

No noise or light penetrated the brick walls that surrounded me in that small dungeon. The days of freedom and happiness were gone, nothing was right anymore. I am not sure how long I've been in that prison, though none of the time spent here was the least bit pleasant.

No other humans were around me and my surrounding stunk of feces. The walls and floor felt greasy under my body as I lay there, my stomach was growling from starvation.

Only being fed one meal a day and only seeing the shadow of the one who brought my measly portion of food. Only the silhouette, no details. Every day I saw that silhouette and tried to strike some sort of conversation but it never spoke. I wonder how long it has been since I felt the warmth of another human being or heard another person's voice.

My past was but a blur as I wasted away in that damp dark prison. There was no longer such a thing as kindness in my mind, only sadness and pain. Yet why do I still have the will to keep living? Why do I want to find a way out and find a new way to live my life, even if it's for a little while?

Just then the dungeon doors opened with a sound of wood scraping on the hard, cold brick floor. That silhouette once again moved into my line of vision and I sat up as it slid the plate of food between the metal bars. "Um," my voice was weak, "How much longer will I have to stay down her."

Silence came from the silhouette as I watched it walk away once more. Though my stomach screamed for the food I went no where near the plate. I could not help but to wonder what I did to deserve the punishment of having this as a home. As I started to reach for the plate I heard the scraping sound of the door opening and closing once more. Another silhouette was approaching.

I stopped reaching for the plate and stared at the silhouette; somehow this one was different then the other. "Erin Moldova," the silhouette spoke as I stared at it, "Today is the day of your judgment." I had no reaction to the sound of another human’s voice as I heard the rattling of keys; the sound echoed through the silence.

I heard the keys being placed into the lock and the silhouette turning the key to let me free; my hearing heightened during all the years in the dark and quiet dungeon. The door to my cage squeaked loudly as it was pushed opened on its unused hinges. I was pulled to my feet and dragged out of the cage, my feet screamed in protest from the fact that they have not been used for such a long time.

I was pulled out the door and once the sun hit my eyes they screamed and protest and started to water. Through my teary eyes I noticed that the one pulling me was a tall man of average build. He had shaggy black hair on top of his head and was olive in skin tone. He never looked back but kept looking as he forced me along.

We passed many men and women who wore the same clothes and they looked at me for a second before looking away. While some of the women stared just a bit longer, but their stares weren't for me; they were for the man who was pulling me behind him.

We eventually ended up in front of a door where he stopped for a minute to knock while I tried to catch my breath. "Come in," a voice called from the other side and the man opened the door. In the process he, once again, took a hold of my wrist and pulled me into the strange room.

"I brought her, sir," the man said and saluted. The room was filled with books stacked on top of books, some of the piles looked as if they were going to fall if someone blew on them. Exactly across from the door was a giant desk that had books littered all over it and a man sitting there shifting through the many books in front of him. The man looked up at us as we entered, his eyes drifted from me to the man who dragged me to this strange book-filled room.

His hair was brown and had a short military cut; little streaks of gray hair showed and he looked no older then forty. His eyes were gray and cold, just a look from them made me want to run back to the dungeon.

He stared at the both of us and I felt like falling to the ground, not from my legs screaming in protest but from the heaviness of his stare. In the corner of my eye I saw the man stop saluting and look perfectly relaxed even under the other man's scrutinizing stare. What have I gotten myself into; I could not keep myself from wondering.

Author's Note

I would like good critique