Marked For the Kill (On Hold)

Chapter 5

Marked For the Kill

Chapter 5

Hours after I wake the next morning, I finally give into the urge to eat. I nibble gently on the creamy cheese, willing myself to savor it slowly.  I will never again get to eat this well for the remainder of my life.  When we are cast out into the woods to be hunted, we will be forced to find our own food or go hungry.  I doubt that I will have any trouble getting food, but it will most likely be only gamy wild meat, no cheeses, or fruit, or soft loaves of bread.

I will not be hungry up until the end of my life, and I take comfort in that small piece of encouragement.

I eat until I am full, which leaves the basket of food nearly empty apart from an green apple, a wedge of cheese, and some plump grapes.  I cover the remains with a light blue cloth that lined the inside of the basket and set the basket on the low shelf that also held the lit lantern. 

I spend the majority of the day to myself in my small living space, examining the lock, door, and hinges.  I try using using the metal underside of the lantern to hit the hinges with a downward force in an attempt to break or at least weaken them.  When nothing happens, I try yanking the mirror from the wall so that I can shatter it and maybe use a glass shard in someway.  The mirror holds on the wall like it is bolted by an impossibly strong force to the earth wall.  I grab the lantern again and try to smash it against the glass.  The lantern only sustains a dent and bounces off the surface uselessly.

I throw my hands up in frustration and seriously contemplate just pitching the lantern as hard as I can against the wall.  I think better of it as the lantern is my only source of light since this room has no windows unfortunately.  Then I remember my knife.

I gasp and smile to myself, but when I reach down to my belt  for my belt, my smile falls with a dropping feeling in my stomach.  I pat down my clothes, but I can't find my knife anywhere.  I drop to the floor and look under the bed, in the sheets and quilt, on the floor, in the basket, and the shelf.  There are few places that my knife could be lost, and it is not in any of them.  They must have taken it from me.  Tears well up in my eye.   I bite my lip to keep them from spilling over;  the pain helps to prevent me from crying. 

One thing is apparent, I am not going to get out of this room unless they want me to get out.  To keep myself calm, I focus on carrying out basic daily tasks which keeps my hands busy and prevents me from fidgeting.  These tasks still will not keep my mind quiet.

I catch my reflection in the dusty mirror that hangs on the wall opposite of my bed.  My hair is tangled and looks like an out of control fire.  My eyes look wild and too big against the pail skin of my face, and my clothes are ripped and dirty.  There is a large blood-stained spot on the back of my sweater;  I look like a wild, uncivilized cave woman. 

I grab the second basket off of the floor and unceremoniously dump its contents onto the bed and rummage through them.  The basket contained much more that I had expected:  three pairs of soft jeans;  three warm-looking sweater;  some plain and black undergarments;  several pairs of socks;  heavy, brown leather combat boots;  and a brown, light leather jacket along with a pack of several medical supplies and a pack of necessities like shampoo, deodorant, and toothpaste.  All of the clothes were even in my exact size.  How thoughtful, I think with a grimace. 

I grab the necessities pack and head to the small bathroom to clean myself up, surprised to find that the bathroom floor is tiled as opposed to earth like the other room.  I examine the contents of the cabinet under the sink only to find five towels, three packs of soap, and some spare rolls of toilet paper.  I grab two towel and set them on the sink.  I start the shower to let the water heat up and slowly peel of my filthy clothes.