The Scourge |Book #2 Turned Trilogy|

1.

            Lara

            “Can you see them?” the girl asks. She is blocked off from me by metal bars. I watch as she points toward the ceiling. “Look up there!”

            I bend my knees closer into my chest, hugging the corner of the cell, where I am being kept. The girl from the cargo truck, rocks back and forth, cradling her head. Words coming from her mouth do not make sense, she rambles all night, every night. Her red rimmed eyes show sleep deprivation. I am feeling deprived myself, with her continuous strange talk.

            Picking up a tiny piece of loose brick that has lodged itself free from the wall, I hurl it at my crazy cell mate. She stops rocking, loosening her fingers from the tangled mess of blonde hair. Pressing her palms to the floor, she pushes herself up onto her filthy bare feet. I listen, the bottom of her feet tap with each step. Trying to press my body further into the corner, glancing away from her underweight body, I cannot look into her menacing eyes. The cell grows quiet; her feet no longer tap along the cement floor.

            “Do you deny seeing them?” her raspy voice forces my eyes to look upon her own.

            Swallowing hard, I tilt my head toward the ceiling. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Forcing myself to look at her, I shake my head. “You’re crazy.”

            She slams her fist onto the bars. “NO! No…no…” Falling back to her knees, she begins to rock. “The black shadows, they are children of the dark.”

            Pushing my face forward, I press my forehead onto my bent knees. With both index fingers on each side of my head, I plug my ears. It’s one thing having to listen to her lunacy, but to have to deal with my own cravings.

            Blood…

                                                                        ~*~

            Describing what I feel every day, simply put – fear. This fear I have is imbedded into my genetic code, my brain waves, and my nervous system. It taunts me day and night, with just a touch of hand to my shoulder or a whisper to my ear. Fear, the distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, pain, and evil. Do I imagine it all, or is it reality? I cannot differentiate the two anymore, I have lost myself, for I have become my own fear.

            Lifting my head from the cool cemented floor, I gaze around the dimly lit cell. Up above, at the edge of the wall and ceiling, the old fashioned bars along the small rectangular window proves it to be day time. Three beams of light penetrate through the small area, dust particles floating within its grasp, trapped. The city is lively, from the harmony of voices collaborating, right outside my window, if you can even call it that. Will I be able to set foot outside the prison grounds? I can only hope, if hope still lives and breathes inside my damaged soul.

            A door buzzes and a latch releases. I crawl on my hands and knees, lifting my head straight forward. My greasy raven black hair dangles in front of my eyes. I don’t even brush it aside. I don’t care. There are two shadowed figures standing in the doorway. One seems to be male with a brutish stance. The other shadow is short and petite.

            “Lara…”

            The gentle voice caresses the air, goose bumps forming over my bare flesh. The petite figure jerks an arm away from the prison guard and steps into a lighted space. Her face is matured, strong, and emotionless.