The Death Within

~*~

Flashback

-Caged

Iron bars surrounding

Stone floor stained

With the blood of ages-

Their cold eyes, staring down at me, try to read my thoughts as I lay on the cold floor, broken. Crimson colored stains dirty the very floor I am sprawled against, some even mine. I feel the pain of every hit they land on my body, but I no longer care. They laugh as I cry out involuntarily; glad to finally get a response. I have refused to say a word as they continue my torture, silent for what must be weeks by now. I live in hell itself. My cell is no bigger than a small closet, barely enough room to move, let alone get away from them. I have endured this hell on earth for far too long, and my sanity has long ago started to fray.

-Staring hollowly through the window

A tiny space of light and hope

Extinguished when they come

And laugh mockingly

And taunt

And jeer

Kicking, pushing, hitting

Knife-words digging into my flesh-

I cry out again as they kick my tender side, forever questing for a way to hurt me, a way to make me talk. But I won't. I can't. I will never betray the ones I love. I hear the words they say, "He is dead. Give up now and your Pain will be over," or "He hates you. Did you know? He heard you ran away with someone else. He said he'd kill you if he ever sees you again because of your betrayal," and I've also heard "If you give him up, no one else will die. He only wants the boy." But I can't give up. I don't care about the words they say, a world without me is better than a world without him. He's the only salvation we have. I hear them calling me names; b*tch, wh*re and sl*t are common for me. They say I will never leave here if I don't tell them. I laugh hollowly when they tell me this; they wouldn't let me leave anyway, so why should I care? I've been here so long that I no longer feel the pain, not physical, mental, or emotional. All I feel is hate. My body still reacts, but my mind
is far away. They don't know where I go when they torture me; the beatings, rapes, and spells no longer affect me. They can see my eyes are distant; far, far away from here. It unnerves them, and I laugh lowly whenever I realize this, making them even more nervous. "It's not natural; she should be in more pain than this. She can't be human," I hear them say. Bitter laughter burns my throat as it forces its way up from my depths. I'm glad they're scared. No, not glad; I'm triumphant. Even with all the pain they cause, I can still scare them. It gives me almost a sort of hope.

The colors in the cell are mute, the grays of the walls, blacks of their cloaks, murky lights all intent upon depressing me. The blood, though, is brilliant. Over time, I've found the sight of my blood is intoxicating. The feel of it running down my body makes me feel almost alive, the sight gives me desperately needed color, the taste feeds me and allows me life-giving liquids, the smell reminds me of better times when I would help my mother cook, the sound of it dripping gives me something to listen to other than their taunts. There is one window, so small as to make it seem like an accidental hole in the wall, too tiny to fit a hand through. Sometimes, they leave me alone for a few short minutes, and I gaze out at the small patch that I can see through it, but only when I have the strength to move. I rarely do. When they find me there, they hit and curse me with everything they have. The curse that I would always relive in my dreams is used daily. Everyday, more of me dies internally, the Pain becoming too much. And it is indeed Pain, for it far surpasses just the word itself. My personal Pain. If only someone knew where I was, but no, I mustn't think like that. If anyone were to find me, they would be subjected to the same. I wouldn't be able to endure that. I would immolate myself rather than see someone go through my personal hell with me.

-And letting free

The blue-black blood

Of my words

Flowing onto the floor

And pooling round dark boots

As they stare with contempt

And then leave

The heavy iron door thudding shut-

They allow me paper to write, laughing at me for wanting to do so. They think I will write something that their Master will find useful. They think me so dumb; it's their loss. I write to keep my sanity, or what's left of it. Poetry siphoning off the hatred I feel radiating off them, even in my numb state of mind. It never works the way I wish for it to. All my life, I have valued freedom, and now it's gone. So I sit and wait for Death, the ultimate freedom, who I know is not far behind. How could He be? I haven't eaten for days. I know I will die, but that's infinitely better than betraying everyone. I will never do that. Never speaking, rarely crying out, I wait for Him and I pray He will come soon. But He never does.

~*~

Flashback end

Sometimes, the memory of those weeks was too much to bear. I closed down, feeling dead once more. They say Pain is the worst thing in the world. They're wrong. They've obviously never felt the numbness. A coldness that takes over your entire being, clouding your vision and making you feel dead inside. That is true depression. Tears and sadness aren't the worst thing, no longer caring about anything, even your own death, is much worse. Hell, I wish for death, and that's the worst thing of all.

-The heavy iron door thudding shut

On my mind-voice

Broken beyond help

And I am silenced

And I stare at my blood-ink

On the floor

And desperately scratch words

On my pale paper-flesh

My soul released

From my mind-cage-

Desperately trying to feel alive, I cut, feeling my life run down bruised and scar-puckered skin. I am marked by them, but I even the score by marking myself. I do not belong to them; my new scars prove that to me. The pain I feel as the crimson liquid flows down my arms, my way too skinny arms, is like the sweetest kiss of fire burning through my veins. I feel something when I cut, no longer feeling the horrible numbness. Feeling alive. But then it comes back and the depression takes over again.

-I can see the future

Shining dark above me

What would have been twinkling stars now obsidian

I can see it, waiting tantalizingly there-

I asked myself what a future is, not quite remembering past the death-like feeling I have. The coldness that keeps me from caring about life anymore has conquered me again.

-Just above

And I can't reach it

I need to reach it

Stuck where I am-

Stuck, oh yes, I am stuck. I thought their version of hell was ultimate, but it's nothing compared to this. This utter lack of feeling is paralyzing me, keeping me from being alive. Merely existing, where I had once lived.

-Never again

I can't think

Why do the stars fade and blacken, light extinguished

I do not know

I must know

But I don't-

So many have died from those who hurt me. I was the "lucky" one and managed to escape. If only I could remember how I did it, maybe others could be saved. But I blacked it out, like our people's lives, winking out into darkness. I continue to try, no matter how pointless it seems. I may not be able to save myself, but perhaps I can save them. My mind might forever be in darkness, but theirs doesn't have to be. I must try to go on. My future will be their salvation. Or I will die trying. Not that it would be any different from this. But that no longer matters. I will fight my way through this, through my apathy, and fight for them, and him. Nothing but death could keep me from it.

-And all I can see is blackness

And all I can hear is silence

And I float

In a bed of forgotten memories

Where all that matters is my future

Dark Stars-