Rebellious Freedom

The Beginning Of The End

I don't know how long they've kept me here. I tried keeping record of all my days by scratching the wall every time I get the tiny morsels of leftovers they call food, but by the third week it got too tiring and I gave up. I wasn't always here. I got moved out of staples and put in this cell. Honestly, I can't say I am too sure why I am here. Staples is the most infamous prison work camp in Battaglia.   When a prisoner was too old or too sick to work, he or she was sent to the death camp. Once murdered, slain prisoners were sent to the final facility – a crematorium. Guards had the capacity to murder 20,000 prisoners per day. It is estimated that at least 1.1 million people die there every four years. We were hardly ever fed and people always fell ill. There was also a lot of foreigners and sweet innocent little children.  Every second we spent not doing work at the assigned work hours we were whipped mercilessly. I have been there for about two years and I am surprised that I am still alive. When I first moved here I wasn't very surprised. I had after all, wrecked more than enough havoc. I managed to kill about thirty guards in my time there.  I almost escaped twice because, for some reason the guards have been ordered to inflict on me as much pain as possible but not enough to kill me. Right now, here, I can't tell when it's day or night because everything looks the same. I hear screams sometimes though. Ear splitting, soul crushing, tortured screeches. Enough times that I have gotten used to it.  Looking about my small cell, I see what I always see: dark brown blood spluttered walls, the scratches I made, bits of paper from a book that I found in this hellhole, and my scrawny uncomfortable bed. A book and a cardboard box I found are wedged under the sad excuse I now call a bed. And my least favorite thing to look at, the huge metal gate preventing me from escaping.  The floor is hard, rough and uncomfortable to sit on but that is where I spend most of my day lounging.

Soon I hear footsteps. No doubt they are here to torture me again.  I can't keep a shudder in as I think of what they would probably do to me today. They're favorite so far is water boarding. When you first hear of this, you might think, oh it is just water. It is much more though. Waterboarding involves strapping somebody to a table on their back, causing them to become immobile. Afterwards, a cloth is placed over their eyes, nose and mouth. When they are nice and secure, the torturer proceeds to pour water directly onto the face, in intervals. This gives the poor victim the unpleasant sensation of being underwater and drowning ever so slowly.The worst part though, is the in-between moments of alleviation for the victim, when the water stops pouring. This momentary relief is just a mirage, meant to break them psychologically, as they go right back to drowning again. This process is repeated until the victim completely submits. Unfortunately for me, since the torturers are doing this for fun, there is nothing for me to submit to.

The thundering of the ever growing footsteps brings me back to reality. I swallow, rearrange my features to that of defiance and rest my back against the wall all while trying hard not to tear my hair out in frustration. I glare at the ground and listen hard, the sound of the brisk footsteps hint to me that there are at least 20 people coming down here. In my weakened state, it would be almost impossible to fight all of them in the hope of escaping. And anyways, the whole place is full of traps and guards. I wouldn't make it past the out the underground cave. Yes. I am so dangerous they put me in an underground in the middle of nowhere. I also don't want a broken skull so I sag and hope they are not here for me. But as it has been proved many times before, none of my prayers are ever answered because I hear the faint rattle of keys and a fairly loud clunk as the gate that has caged me for so long is opened. Without a word, I am pulled to my feet and dragged through the maze that is the prison. Soon after what seems like forever, we arrive at a tall wooden door and one of the guards knocks. I keep my face neutral so as to show absolutely no emotion but my act of bravado drops when the door is opened. "Oh no" I breathe.

This is my first serious novel that I am writing. I would really like feedback.Things you think I could have done better.

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