by Amy Solus
Chapter 13
No light. No sound. No smells. The first thing I can feel is my hands. It feels as though pins and needles are being stuck into them and I want to pull away, but I can’t remember how to move my arms. What are arms? I struggle to even remember the answer to that simple question.
It is an incredibly strange thing to be lost in your own body. There’s no feeling in the world even scarcely similar to it.
I feel completely disconnected. I’m not in the void of unconsciousness, but a place that you can only visit if you’re dying or maybe, if you’re dead. I am not whole; I am only me-- my spirit, my soul, whatever you want to call it. At least that’s what it seems like; I’m not really sure.
As my body becomes reconnected to myself, the pain that my physique endures is horrendous. I thought pins and needles were bad, but as my lungs begin to take in air, phantom lava seems to be churning in my lungs. I wish I could scream, but I can’t recall how.
My mind is flooded by the memories of the last time I passed out-- and the recollection that it had not been this painful. I wonder what’s wrong with me. What’s changed in me since then? Perhaps it’s due to all of the gas I’ve breathed in; maybe this is an effect of it-- a way to kill off the weak individuals. Maybe it is an easy way to rid the world of the ones incapable of keeping a hold of themselves.
The silence around me seems unnatural and uncommonly empty. It’s nothing like plugging your ears and not even relatively similar to being underwater. Perhaps I’ve gone deaf. No, that’s not right. I think there’s another way of looking at it. I feel like the silence is consuming me. In fact, maybe it’s not even silence at all. Silence is not a terrible thing-- it does not eat away at the very fabric of your being; it can give you peace.
I start to wonder if I’ve been drugged. Perhaps I am going to die. But why would they drug me if they think I hold the information that they so desperately grasp for?
Confusion washes through my bones and I begin to feel trapped within small confines; I am no longer nowhere. Actually, come to think of it, the small confines are actually my body. Suddenly all feeling comes back to my body in a tremendous jolt and I can’t help but jerk straight up.
I find myself holding my head in my hands and the silence is gone. No, actually the silence is still there, but it is a natural silence; a silence that happens in this cell block every single day. I wonder how long I’ve been gone; how long my soul had been separated from my body.
But is that what happened? I honestly cannot be so sure of anything at this point in time. A profound sense of relief rushes from my head down to my toes and instinctively I feel as though this whole experience was not brought on by my jailors, but by myself; my body, my soul. I sit there completely still, completely unafraid. My hands do not tremble. My eyes do not water. My bones do not ache. I feel completely whole, which is a feeling I haven’t had the chance to indulge in for quite some time.
I realize something as I sit there, looking down at the scratches that wound my cell floor. Without fear, man is invincible. When there is absolutely no fear in your heart, you cannot be chained. Those chains that you fight everyday were stuck into the walls of your mind by yourself, and by no one else. Without fear, you are not bound, like a wild beast. Without fear, you are capable of completing any task, any journey, any dream. Without fear, you can die. You can die with honor, joy, and a complete sense of gratification within yourself.
And with that I realize a second thing. The thing that could undoubtedly allow me to live again; that could bring me to a place where I can breathe free air and find love and know nothing of this prison anymore. This life envisioned can be brought by one simple thing.
I mustn’t give into my fears; I must do all that I can to provide Mara and Taylor with protection, and most of all, I must stay true to myself until the bitter end.
With this new sense of integrity and hope, I pick up another piece of paper from my pile and I begin to write. It is an incredible thing to feel completely intact after being lost for so long. Thoughts travel through my mind with ease and I can finally think clearly. I think nothing of the cruel General Guerra who sits behind that big iron door across the way, I think nothing of the lives of the friends and family I’ve lost since this whole calamity has taken place, and most importantly I think nothing of fear.
One thing I’ve been somewhat successful at in this life of mine is the act of scheming. I scheme like a child with a whole bucket of finger paint does; without constraint, and certainly not with any apprehension of what the consequences may be. I smile an evil grin as I look down at the words so gracefully written on this soggy piece of paper and fold the paper into a small square, which will be couriered to Mara as soon as I am allowed out of this blasted cell.
Sleep comes easy. Tomorrow may be a trying day. There may need to be some amendments made to the little piece of paper hidden in my pocket.
