'wake up…'
An echoing voice rang openly.
'wake up…'
'wake up…'
'wake up…'
His eyes slowly opened, awakening to a sea of stars around him glistened in his eyes, nearly blinding him.
His eyes closed…
A gust of wind suddenly erupted, throwing the boy far, further into the dark nothingness that surrounded him…
wake up…
Landing, his face splattered below. peaking into the watery surface under him, admiring the beauty of the stars reflected in this unknown place.
Suddenly, figures faded in the reflection below at the notice of his long gaze, those that inflicted confusion into his mind.
Suddenly, a voice sounded beneath, muffled by the wetness between…
"&@%#*"
The boy could not understand what the voice was saying; it had no structure, no language, it was inaudible.
A second passed, the voice sounded again… but faded away as the boy's gaze turned to confrontation.
"hello?"
There was no response…
The wind whistled again, throwing the boy into the air. His eyes warped the sea above; he gazed into its elegance, a shine he had never seen before, but before he could embrace it, his rise was interrupted by the forces below.
He began to fall…
His eyes closed again…
The open voice chose to ring another time.
Now is not the time…
wake up…
Wake up!
His eyes opened, then blinked a few times. He awoke to his frail body, lying on a hard mattress covered in many layers of dirt. He felt the roughness against his skin, an unpleasant way to sleep.
He slowly arose from his back, coming to a small, dimly lit box, a prison cell of weathered bricks forged in an imperfect mud.
The prison was a home for those who couldn't escape a simple grasp. Lives turned from freedom to cursed routines filled with torture and slavery; a hell for those alive.
The boy looked around, and in his eyes, only the same image of darkness appeared. The interior of the cell gave out nothing else; the brick walls and the thick metal bars were the same, nothing changed, maybe just a new scuff of dirt or a new flake of rust peeling from the aging bars, but he couldn't tell.
Today felt the same as any other.
He dropped his torso back down, landing harshly against the old mattress, causing dust to explode on his already dark and greasy hair.
As he lay there, something sounded down the cell hall… multiple pairs of footsteps, each of different weights, slowly getting louder and louder.
Suddenly, they stopped, but the boy didn't seem to have an interest in them; he thought it was just the guards doing rounds again, just a casual morning for them.
The footsteps suddenly stopped, and the sound of banging metal came from just outside the cell.
With a stern look, a tall, tan man stood directly next to the entrance, banging on the metal bars that lined up in repetitiveness with a long wooden stick, waiting for an opportunity to use it.
The boy was used to this; he had been stuck in this place for ten years, since the day his mother passed this unfortunate life to him… how unlucky.
Despite being ten, the boy didn't properly know how to speak; he only picked up little by little after hearing the guards communicate with each other while making rounds and discussing as they surveyed the cell hall. So, he couldn't properly communicate with anyone or the guards, making his life even worse than the prison made it.
"Get up!"
The guard's deep voice sounded loudly through the hall; his voice was intimidating, perfect for the authority a guard would hold.
The boy didn't react.
He lay still, not answering the guard; he was too tired to speak, and too tired to get up. He didn't want another day of labor; his frail body was already on the verge of collapse, and it couldn't take it anymore…
Seeing this, the guard cracked the cell door open, then entered the cell.
Seconds passed, full of approaching footsteps, then a tall shadow appeared before the boy. The shadow moved swiftly, painting the floor and the walls with a crimson splatter of blood as it hit the small boy harshly.
"I said, get the hell up!"
The boy tried getting out of bed, but fell straight to his knees, stunned by the affliction the shadow gifted to him.
The guard stared at the boy on the ground, his anger rising every second he admired his fading soul.
"You are worthless, 15! Just like your mother, you understand?! Remember, when I say something, you fucking do it!"
The boy slowly nodded and looked down in despair, knowing damn well that even with little knowledge of life outside the prison, no being should ever have to live like this.
He wanted peace, he wanted freedom, not this shitty mess of a prisoner-slave life.
Verifying the success of his conditioning, the guard turned around, leaving the cell before locking it behind him. He carried a grin of satisfaction across his face as the boy was left on the ground, fading away in his own blood.
He couldn't get up, he struggled to even move his legs, and his vision started to come to a blur as the blood's wetness grew wide.
He poked his head up and looked back towards the puddle of blood forming around him. He reached his right hand towards it and dipped his index finger in the blood, wanting to send a message to the victim who would come to be the cell's next owner.
On the ground just in front of his eyes, he began forming an image… a small star… his most significant memory he could recollect, the dream of that starry space… His newest memory, his only good memory of this life.
It was the only message he could send, an image, a one understandable by all, not hindered by the barrier of language. It was a sign of freedom, the sign the stars had, the ability to look into all as they roamed space freely, his one desire.
His body had started to weaken; he couldn't handle the pain any longer…
His head dropped down, forcing itself against the hardened concrete below. His vision turned dark…
His consciousness faded away…
***