So. This is supposed to be a writing/short story blog, so I guess I should post something I have written. Hmmm... looking through files. Aha!
In the dusty corner of a dark, shadowy room stands a young woman; her face caked in mud and her hair, once red, matted in a thick pile on her head. Her gaunt features are barely visible in the dim light streaming from the lone window mounted at the top of the thick concrete walls. This small portal to the world is perhaps the only thing preventing the eyes of the woman from becoming dull and lifeless, fragments and memories of a previous life. It is perhaps the only hope that keeps her going day to day.
She looks up, her gaze slightly unfocussed, illuminated by the poolof sunset on the cold tiles of the floor. Her cell is square, it's sole furnishing a thick reed mat laid in the right corner, it's surface coated in grime. The door stands; with it's promising yet torturing presence, firmly planted in the right wall of the cell. This is where the woman stares now, her memories returning in full color.
He had pretended to be her friend. Perdio, the night guard. He had snuck in extra rations, feigned sympathy for her unjust arrest, and entertained her with his stories and musings. For a while, life in The Reformatory had almost been bearable. However, her happiness had once again been stolen away, pulled from under her. They had been planning her escape, to a better place, without a cruel, corrupt government controlled by power hungry, fearsome men. Without the inspections, the cries of families being broken apart, and the hum of The Machine, powered by children who had no window to the outside world. The pair had planned each detail, running it through until they had no chance of capture. She had done her part, hacked open the vent in her cell, crawled for hours through the dark ventilation system, and waited at the other end for Perdio to open the hatch. She could still remember the fear, the paralyzing feeling of anticipation that surrounded her. Time passed, and she continued to wait, refusing to give in to the thoughts of regret, the small doubts creeping into the back of her consciousness. After hours, the woman heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The latch had been eased open, and to her dread, instead of Perdio's soft dark face and brown eyes, the crooked grin of a gate guard, eyes narrowed in excitement, swam before her tired eyes. After that, her memories became a blur, a rush of pain and regret. Long periods of isolation, the taste of dried blood and the crack of splintering bone. She had paid dearly for her trust in the night guard.
Perdio never returned. His face is just a memory now, beginning to blend in with her imagination, the happiness he brought no clearer than a dream. She believes that it must have been him who betrayed her location, for no one else knew of their plan. Half of her knows it must have been him, and that she should move on, and forget. She attempts to wipe her mind of his memory, but somehow, it's as if there is still a small part of her that believes his betrayal wasn't on purpose, that he stayed truthful.
She is awoken from her reminiscence by the sound of falling footsteps drifting through the window. They pause for a moment, and a sparkling, bright object falls from the bars above. It lands with a clatter on the damp floor; it's shine contrasting immensely with the grayscale room. It's a large brass key. The woman gasps, her frail hand reaching out, not daring to believe it. And then, a soft voice whispers from above, Jasina! Jasina, it's me."
The sound of her name seems to break a spell of darkness, athreat of invisibility. Jasina whispers, her voice rough and colorless from lack of use, "Perdio."
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