The Visitor

Prologue - Jailbird

The jail cell was unbearably cold. The floors were hard and uneven, the light was scarce. I sat in the only dry corner of the room, the rest being damp and mouldy. The city I was in was rich, but didn't take too kindly to us criminals. Especially the rebels like me. They'd locked me in the worst cell they could find, fed me the worst food they had, kept me in the worst conditions, kept me unhealthy. They were happy I was close to death.

I was in the basement. It was dark and dreary. And most of all...it was lonely. Not noisy and colourful like our hideout had been. Definitely not a party like it was everyday I spent with them. I missed them all, all those people I'd shared my adventures with. I missed my friends, I missed the people I'd met even briefly, I missed my parents, I missed my sister and I missed Him, my one true love. They were all long gone.

Its funny, you never really understand what its like to lose the ones you love. Even if you live in dangerous conditions and you're under constant threat from everyone. You build this false sense of security up around you, you believe everything will be fine and you'll see them again. Never do you consider the fact that one day... You'll get caught. One day everything you've built up, every defence mechanism, every relationship, even that fake security you had... It all disappears. It disappears along with them. Until they're gone... Nothing really matters. You become carefree, reckless, stupid. You begin to make mistakes. That's why I was here. Alone. In conditions even rabid rodents wouldn't be subject to.

There was one sink in the disgusting cell, dirty and infested with ants with a fetid, smudged mirror hanging lopsided above it. There was a toilet beside it, also grimy and generally disgusting. A single stained bed sheet covered the hard, lumpy mass they'd said was my bed. It was possibly the most disgusting thing in here. The stains were unfathomable, I couldn't tell whether it was stained with blood, vomit, or something even more disgusting. I had half a mind to just ask for some cleaning supplies and clean the whole room myself, but the idiots on the other side wouldn't let me. I knew that much. Of course, I couldn't complain. This was my home now.

And I looked, and probably smelt the worst out of all the things in the cramped little room.

My hair was too long, too greasy, not nearly as blue as it should've been, as it used to be. My eyes had horrible, huge bags under them from lack of sleep, my insomnia had got worse and worse over the years, ceasing only when He had been by my side. But He was long gone now, and what was the point of dwelling over what could never be? I hadn't eaten yet either. Just drank the water they gave me and tried my hardest to just not die: the best I could manage because I lived with hope. Hope that I would see Him maybe just one more time. What I'd give to see Him...once. But that was me: I was stick-thin, malnourished and slowly dying. I had just three days left to live.

But I began to accept it. At first I'd tried to keep up my energy, out of the pure hope that I could keep being that cheerful kid I was last year, but... What was the point? It's not like I was going to leave anytime soon. I would die here, be released only when I gave up the name of my accomplices, my best friends. And I'd never give them in. So I would die here, on this very spot, huddled up in a ball in the corner of a mouldy jail cell. I'd die from malnourishment. And I'd always said I was going to die heroically. That plan was definitely not happening.

They'd questioned me a few times. Who had I worked with? Where was the hideout? That sort of thing. But I never said a word. That's what He'd asked of me. And everything I did was for Him. Love was a powerful thing. It was stupid, but very powerful. Just like Him, I thought with a wry smile.

Smiling... Happiness... Those words were alien to me now. Funny how a year ago I'd been the happiest boy alive. I'd been in love, I'd had friends with me, and I was having fun. I was on the run, like I always dreamt of. That was funny too: I'd always thought the life of a rebel was dangerous and exciting. But...here I was. A rebel sentenced to death. Whether that death was by my own hand, like I'd attempted before, or by starvation and torture.