Stuck on the Inside

Awakening

I sit in the corner, like I do everyday, imagining what it would be like to be above ground. Even though I have never seen anything else but stone, I've heard of what lies Outside. I've been told about the green, lush grass, pale blue sky, and golden sun shining brighter than any other light imaginable, and I picture in my mind what it would be like to run and run above ground until there is nothing else to run on but clouds. I feel the gentle spring breeze whipping my hair behind me in a long wave of chocolate, and I imagine my feet landing quietly on pillows of grass until I am lifted up into the sky, like a bird who has flown for the first time. Although, I've never seen chocolate or a bird, Aunt Roni has told me plenty of stories about both of those things.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, I'll actually be able to see it for myself one day. Maybe, when I'm dead, there will be an endless supply of flowery fields and shimmering seas.

But for now, I just imagine. I imagine the way the sunlight bounces off my shiny locks, and how my figure casts a long, slender shadow across the flowers made of gold and precious jewels. I let myself wonder what the petals would feel like: delicate and silky, like a patch of new skin after the dead flakes fall away. I let out a sigh. If only I could see it, just once, I think as I open my eyes with disappointment, seeing the bleak walls before me.

I shut my eyes once more, and I am sent back to my secret hideout. I create in my mind what rain might look like. The dimly lit shower I clean myself in, I use to simulate what it might actually feel like. I let the crisp, refreshing drops fall on my face, my arms, my legs, and I try and think of how the fresh water would taste as I lick it from my lips. It's sweet and cold, nothing like the water that runs through the pipes here, which is frigid and murky. I feel the moisture in the air making my hair stand on end as it waits in anticipation for the storm to intensify. I allow my eyes to open, once again saddened by the four walls encasing me.

I gently press my hands to my lips, which are slightly parted, and chapped; thin slivers of delicate skin, thirsty for the moisture of outside elements. I cup my face, hoping to feel soft and nurtured skin, but instead I feel the decaying wreck I truly am. Will I ever know what it is like to be free and able to see the sights that I know most take for granted? Most likely not.

Captivity. It is a miserable thing. I spend my days alone, having no control over anything, always depending on some unknown source for survival, always feeling helpless and weak. I'm constantly hoping for a better life, or to do something meaningful, but these jagged, sharp walls stare me down and tell me I can't. Sometimes I believe them.

The rest of the time, I hold on to a shred of hope, more like blind faith, that I'm meant to do something more. I can feel it in my bones that this isn't all that awaits me in the future. The only thing I can do now is wait.

Today, though, is one of those days when the grey stone bricks mock me.

I half consciously grab a strip of my long, tangled brown hair and run my fingers through the dark sheet, that slowly becomes smooth as I brush through it. I feel many raw emotions of anger, pity, and longing run through my body, but I just push them aside because I have long learned to accept this dejected fate.

I wonder how long it will take until my body just gives out. When it will be done supporting such a desperate dream of life. I keep thinking that tomorrow it will have finally had enough, yet each day I awake with a fully functional body that is stubborn as to release the hope that it may someday actually live.

I am awakened from my reverie of self-pity when I notice the distinct footsteps approaching my cell, meaning only one thing. Food, or what counts as food here. As my final meal of the day pops through the door, I let out a long, drawn-out yawn. Slowly, I stand up, walk over to the door, and return to the corner with the tray on my lap. I look down at the normal grey goop that looks and tastes like a lump of crap. I have no idea how it is edible, but I eat the blob anyway, plugging my nose to block out the taste. When I am finished, I feel the usual wave of drowsiness that accompanies eating crash over me. I sigh, tossing my tray through the slot in the door, and I lug myself to the tiny cot in the corner. As I slowly drift into darkness, the single light clicks off above my head.