W I N T E R

The Prison

Inhale, exhale. Breathe.
Inhale, exhale. Breathe.

There was a comfort in the constant repeating of taking in oxygen. Then again, there was nothing else to do in that small confined chamber. Once a day-days were only marked by the lights turning off regularly-the cycle would be broken. The men that had created this small room and placed its lone occupier in it would reopen those heavily sealed and locked doors. They would question the occupier into the ground. Each time they came, they left with nothing more than the satisfaction that they had succeeded in capturing and containing a dangerous being. At least, they told themselves that. If it was so dangerous, wouldn't it have killed them as they opened those doors? Wouldn't it have broken out? Despite the brute strength and ungodly powers, and a certain resilience to the weapons and tranquilizers shoved in its face, the being was no monster at all. It could have been dangerous, if it truly wanted to. But there was no point in the blood thirst that had taken the rest of its kind. It existed in this world by pure luck and chance. It didn't like the small quarters it had been imprisoned to, but yet it didn't complain. Being here where it was guarded and kept safe was much better than the other fate it would have met. The metal in the walls that weakened it weren't even registered, and It didn't dare retaliate, didn't dare break loose. Why try to when all it had ever wanted was safety, and knowing where the future would lie. It was perfectly content, here. It didn't mind the dark that stretched across the small room when the lights were off. It could see in the dark. And it had the normality of the constant repeated words. Over and over again, it would say the words, in a language strange to the human ears, yet somehow understandable. It lived in that small cell for countless ages, saw countless faces and heard countless voices. It didn't keep track of the time, didn't bother anyone. It lived a quiet prisoner, though its captors weren't even sure it knew it was a prisoner in a heavily guarded and armored prison. Sometimes, its captors even wondered why it was retained to such a small area. It was peaceful, and each generation that saw this wondered the same. Why wasn't it moved to a cell where it had free and open space to roam? Perhaps it was the knowledge that without that small cell, it would realize once more who and what it was. The being had been so cramped in the small cell. It probably didn't even know the nature of walking and running anymore. What its captors didn't know, however, was the ancientness that resided in its strange and foreign body. The years upon years it was held in the prison didn't bother it; it was just a small fragment in its life. It could have set itself off into a sleep that could last for longer than it had been alive. Yet it chose not to. It was curious of this place, and that fought with the longing to be safe. Its kind before it had also feared the sleep, and that resounded to it; the ancient callings of ancestors long passed. The sleep was hard to wake up from, and the beings that were asleep were easy targets for enemies that looked to kill. It knew that it was safe here, as it had been for years. 

However, things in the prison were changing. The captors who had come to see it as of late had stopped coming. It no longer was able to keep track of the days, as the lights that had been on at some point at gone off completely. The final change was the constant noise that bothered its ears. It was joints popping, but in a consistent manner. Occasionally, it would cease. Those small amounts of quiet led it to wonder was going on beyond the safe walls of its small room. It wondered, but it didn't investigate its wonder. It let the noises and darkness continue to exist, excepting it into the routine of the intake of oxygen. 

Inhale, exhale. Breathe.
Rap-rap-rap, silence, rap-rap-rap.
Inhale, exhale. Breathe.