Hope of Freedom

Day: Unknown

I've decided the new form of fun to prevent me from going insane is going to be writing something in the evening because, for some reason, they gave me some paper and a pen a while ago and it's gone unused.

This room (or cell, whatever they want to call it) is somehow colder than it was last night, which I believed wasn't possible. A sliver moon has slid into view out of the small barred window opposite where I'm sitting with my back pressed against the wall. If I tried hard enough, I'm sure I could carve a nice groove into this wall so it was more comfortable, but that won't be needed because they're going to let me go soon. I'm sure of that much.

I was put in here two years ago, with a promise of being set free once everything had cleared up, but no news on the matter has emerged for the past couple of months. Time has become a blur, but I keep myself entertained enough so that I don't want to try and throw myself out the window. Not that I'd fit through it now. Eighteen-year-old me was able to last through the tests without being tempted to squeeze out and she was naïve enough to believe that she would be able to leave a few months after entering this place so I can suffer for her actions now.

I used to get visitors every week or so. They came solely to check up on me so they knew that I wasn't dead, or close to death. Now I'm starting to believe they've forgotten about me, but I maintain some hope that I can be bought back at some point soon. That hope is at least half of my entertainment in here, as depressing as that may sound. It allows for me to think about the dire state that the world must be in now for them to leave me here for so long and convince myself that I'm being protected by remaining here. The only sign that they haven't completely forgotten about me, or don't want to leave me to die here, is the food that comes in daily. Two meals, one in the morning, one in the evening. This morning it was the joys of porridge, giving me the energy to do nothing in this cell. Now I'm just waiting for the evening meal, which they throw through the small hatch under the metal door whenever they feel like it. That can provide some entertainment too: guess when the food will come and what it will be. Today my guess is in around an hour and it'll be some soup and bread as that's been the meal for the past few days. Honestly, every day is thrilling here.

Two hours later, the food is slid under the door. This evening I have the delicious meal of a burger and chips because they keep it classy in this fine establishment (I'll guess the time and food right tomorrow). Once I've made use of every crumb on the plate, I slide it back through the hatch and a mystery person on the other side takes it away. Whoever is beyond the door never wants to respond to the questions I ask them. Just yesterday, they refused to let me know what the new American sitcom that's doing the rounds was. These are the things I'm missing out on by them not providing me with Netflix in here. The least they could do is tell me the name of the show so I can try to think of a plotline.

Day: A few days after the last one

It's difficult to be consistent with this when every day is the exact same. Even the food hasn't changed in the past few days, it's that monotonous. I did get some good news though; someone is coming to see me. No clue who, no clue when. They just said I'd get a visitor at some point which could mean I'll be free soon, or not. The last time someone said they would be meeting me, I was told things had worsened, which I wasn't surprised about. The guy also didn't instil me with confidence that things would be improving anytime soon so this new meeting is probably just confirmation things have fallen off a cliff and I'll be in this cell for the rest of my life.

In the meantime though, I can watch the moon slowly pass the window and say goodbye to another fun-filled day.