Iron Bars

Prologue - Nightmares

Iron Bars

Nightmares

"Draw it, or create it, whatever you to call it.  And do it now."  His greedy mouth demanded.  I just stood, not wanting to give in and execute his wishes.  "Don't make this anymore difficult than it needs to be.  Have you forgotten what happens when you aren't following orders?  Do I need to remind you?"  I cringed, losing myself in the memory.  Flashes of white hot pain and agony threaten to resurface at the mere thought of the reminiscence.

 I could never erase those memories from my mind.

 "Answer me!" He bellowed, shaking me roughly.

 I looked away and quickly shook my head.  "Good, now do as I ask."  He shoved me towards the rough, scratched up concrete flooring causing me to scrap the palms of my hands that were ever so scarred.  Reluctantly, I rose up, feeling his eyes on me as I made my way to the mirror.  

Staring at my feet as they weakly moved across a ripped, stingy rug, I saw my shadow cast from the dim kerosene lamp.  The light bounced off the chipped gray-painted walls and bare basement-like room except for a wooden table with a collection of papers and a whip that brings many memories.  It also had a cracked oval mirror just for me.

 I came to a halt when I reached the mirror.  I watched my reflection as I brought up my rough, calloused hand to touch the grimy, scratched surface with the tip of my finger.  Pausing, I looked at what he had made me become.

My inky black hair, once long enough to reach my lower back, had been cruelly chopped off.  Ragged strands now barely touched the top of my shoulders.  Skin that was once creamy and porcelain-like was now pale and lifeless.  I used to be tall, slender,  maybe even considered pretty.  Now, all that was left was thin, fragile limbs.  You can make out where my ribs are without even a second glance.  My face is hollowed out, cheekbones becoming more prominent.  The light was sucked out of my eyes that could have been considered an vibrant, icy-blue color.  They were now a sullen grey.  I shivered snapping out of my reverie of the past... of what used to be.  It was always cold, causing all the shivers and teeth-rattling shakes to never end.  

"Sweetheart, I'd like to get started soon.  You know I don't like to be kept waiting."  His disgusting voice reprimanded me, filled with dark malice.

 I felt his presence creep up to me and his slimy hands squeezed my shoulders as if to calm me.  This made me want to vomit the minimal amount of sustenance I had received.  I let out a shaky sigh and began to draw what he referred to as a "portal".

I could sense the power and familiar tingly feeling as my finger moved across the splintered mirror.  

The adrenaline rushed through my veins, thrusting roiling waves of unknown power that feels trapped in my body out through my fingers.  I almost think this could be something great under different circumstances, but for now this feeling is marred with fear and contempt.  It felt natural, a strange but unknowingly familiar sensation.  It was a dream - a nightmarish-dream that doesn't feel anything like reality.

But this time, something was different.

As I was circling the edges of the mirror with my fingers, I could feel my energy draining out in waves, which was all part of the process I'd previously experienced.  I always watch how my fingers leaves trails of scorching red-hot heat, traces of molten substance.  I never get enough time to really study this astonishingly unrealistic skill that I've somehow managed to produce.

This time, beads of sweat began to slide down my forehead; I started breathing rapidly and heavily.  Fear starts creeping inside me and tightening my chest.  I panic, my hand uncharacteristically shaky.  I have never gotten this drained.  My eyesight blurs; I struggle to finish tracing the mirror's circular contours.