His body trembling, his eyes brimming with tears.
I miss my mother, her gentle embraces, the soft sway of her lullabies. I miss my father, the sheltering of his arms to shield me from the world, to make me untouchable. I miss them… so much.
Why? I miss them... Why... Why... I miss...
Sob
Why are you laughing? Why did they do this... Why did she do this... I don't understand...
A stifled sob
Why are you laughing? Why did they do that? Why… Why did she do that? I don't know…I don't understand… Mama… Papa…
He wept till sleep took him like a thief in the night.
The next morning came with a sharp kick, pain blooming over the set of bruises on his wiry body. Another notch in the count. The voice was unfamiliar. A new guard, perhaps. But it did not matter; all torturers sounded the same in the end.
Twelve months had passed since he was confined in this cold, dark cell. He wore the standard clothes of a prisoner, which with time had worn to shreds, never to be replaced. Chains secured him to the walls, sufficient to bend his limbs. He was never allowed to leave the cell, not even once, to see daylight.
The only view of the outside world came through the thin, barred window of his door, a splash of light from the torches in the dungeon corridors. The door was opened only to bring in his meager portions of food and water, after door was closed the window barred was left slightly open long enough to remind him of the warmth of the light he could never freely feel. It was a cruel jest: light, so close, and yet forever out of reach. The entrance of his cell, the outside world beyond it, the freedom of daylight, all were withheld from him. The light was there just beyond his grasp, an unremitting agony.
"Get up, pig. Time for your swill."
He ate listlessly. Appetite had deserted him a long time ago. Perhaps for the rotten food, perhaps for the atrocities that raped his soul.
The guard returned after some time, a revolting smile distorting his lips.
"Enjoying your swill? I pissed in it to make it soft for your tender throat."
He laughed, then went on with venomous relish:
"Same way I used your mother's mouth as my toilet."
He was about to leave, but the words stabbed deep, penetrating the mist that had rendered the captive senseless for twelve months. He did not understand why, after a whole year, why did those words affect him this time? They roused something deep-seated, something primal.
Anger.
It was not an anger that screamed; it was the quiet, stalking kind. In that instant, he was less human and more animal, a mindless beast. He lunged, the chains around his wrists jingling, bony hands wrapping them tightly around the guard's throat. Muscle and tendon meant nothing, only rage and the desire to murder.
"Wh-what? Let go, you swi—"
The guard tried to bellow, but his words caught in choking gasps. He crumpled to the floor, his back pressed against the prisoner's chest, hands clawing in panic. But the prisoner's grip did not falter; every ounce of his strength poured into the strangling hold, the chains biting into flesh, binding life and death together in his wrath.
The struggle slowed. The body went limp. Silence returned.
Panting, fingers cold as winter stone, pounding heart like a drum, he stared at the man he had just killed. He had moved, decided, for the first time since his captivity.
No time to marvel at it. Survival meant quickness.
He took off the guard's armour and undergarment and piled the cloth beneath the metal to hide his bony frame. He swaddled the body in his own rags, then closed the cell door and walk away.
A second guard spotted him.
"Man, took you long enough newcomer. Did you like him sooo much? "
Guard laughes at his unamusing words.
"I wanna beat him. Wanna join in?"
"Already did, when I went to refill his bucket. Beat him until he lost consciousness. Do it when he wakes up."
"Really? Flopped again?"
"Yeah. Weak, like his parents."
"Ha! Yeah. His mom was a classy thing, though. We had her for days."
"Yeah… we did." he answered with bitterness creeping in.
The guard's eyes drew together.
"What, feeling guilty now?"
"Of course not. They had it coming. Just… the stench of that rat sickened me."
"Ha! That explains it. You've been holding your nose since you got back. First time's always the worst."
"Sure. I'm going down to the barracks for a while. He's sleeping, so I want to rest my nose for a while"
"Want me to go with you?"
"And leave the post for the captain or some new prisoner to guard in our place? No. I've worked hard enough after taking care of that filth."
"Okay. But you owe me."
"I know."
He walked out, slightly shaking. He fought to suppress the rioting shiver that was rising in him and made it somehow. He couldn't comprehend what had happened in the last few minutes. Perhaps it was reflex, the primal, unconscious sort that urges an animal into survival. But why now? For a year he had not cared, his heart frozen into impassivity. What had turned him about? Memories? But he had lived them over and over, each day a loop of grief and cruelty. The taunts of the guards? Those he had been tolerating day in and day out.
So, what then? What had awakened his will to survive? Fear? But fear of what? He had lost everything there was to lose, all taken from him already, except for his life.
Oh… his life. The life his mother had brought into this world. The life he had once dreamed of sharing with his beloved, his friends and his parents.
But now, what to do? He had escaped, but to what? If he could escape the capital unnoticed, then what? Revenge? He was too feeble. Live peacefully? How would a mind scarred so deeply ever know peace? Suicide? No, that was not an option. If it was, then he would never have yielded to the feral impulse that had just saved him.
He would have to decide, but not here. Not now. First, he must get out of the capital. And fast.