Memories of You

Chapter Forty-Five - Rock Bottom

Thank you to everyone that has reached this far.  You are an amazing bunch of brave readers. I know this is short, but read carefully.

Thank you once again to Depecher and BarbaraK2U.  I could not have gotten here without you both.

Tris's POV

I lean against the wall, my fingers barely holding onto the bowl due to how swollen and sore they are. I continue sipping on the cold soup, trying to force down another mouthful. I really haven't lost my distaste for cabbage; when it's cold like this, it makes it that much harder to force down the slimy pieces of cabbage, even when I am hungry.

I hold the bowl in my lap, looking down at the last of the contents. I feel a tear slip past, and I don't bother to wipe it away. I'm starting to question everything about my life, including whether there is a God, and it pains me to know I'm even thinking this way.

Why would God allow something like this to happen? Why would He let someone do this to so many people? Why would He let someone convince thousands of followers that it's ok to kill people based on their faith, simply because they don't believe the same thing? I don't know what is happening to the others in this place, but I can only imagine their treatment isn't much better than mine based off the bodies I saw earlier this week.

I place the bowl on the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest, and wrap my thin arms around them. My biggest problem right now is that my hope for Tobias finding me has dwindled to just a flicker. I'm certain of his love for me, but I'm worried that wherever Eric has imprisoned me has proven too much for Tobias — that Eric has finally been able to outsmart him. Or worse, he's been killed trying to get to me, and no one is coming for me. If that's true, it means I will rot in this place or be Jack's next body to burn when Eric finally breaks me.

I hear the heavy footfalls of a soldier passing by my door and guess it's probably nighttime. I normally would have eaten this morning, but I couldn't force myself to rouse until a soldier came to drag me to the bathroom this evening. I sigh, wiping my face, and pick the bowl back up. It does me no good to waste my precious energy on crying. I know I'm not as strong as I was when I first got here, and I know I've lost several pounds given how ill-fitting my baggy clothing is on me. But if I keep crying like this, I'll have nothing left.

I look down at the bowl, seeing the last of the soup swirling slowly within, and pick it up to force down the last mouthful, trying not to gag on the taste. I breathe slowly, placing the bowl next to the pot, and look at how much soup I have left. It's about half full with the stone cold liquid, and I try to decide if I'm hungry enough for another bowl. I'm not really, but I know I need to eat to try and keep up what little strength I have.

I make up my mind quickly, dipping my bowl into the contents of the pot, and pull out a half bowl of the soup. I lean back against the wall, and try to quickly eat so I don't taste the cabbage as much.

Suddenly, I hear the faint sound of bombs being dropped in the distance. It's not close enough to be in the camp, but it's close enough that I can hear it through the stone walls.

I drop my bowl with a clang against the stone, the contents spilling across the floor toward the drain. I press my ear against the cool wall, trying to determine if the bombing is coming closer. As my heart rate picks up, I can't help but feel a surge of excitement go through me. It seems that someone is starting the liberation process, and since the bombs aren't being dropped within the camp they are more than likely using them to cut off the easy escape routes.

The clamor of scrambling soldiers suddenly starts outside my door, their heavy footfalls running down the hall amidst the chaos of shouted orders and screams. I start to panic when I hear them opening cell doors down the hall from me. There are cries of protest coming from the prisoners being dragged out into the hallway, followed by occasional gunfire. "Shit," I whisper, pressing myself against the wall.