Era of Greed [✔ COMPLETE] (Chrim Chronicles #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

           

Wren of West

I could not make out any shapes. All was black. I figured that's why they called it the voids. I actually had to close my eyes to see things, and when I did, I saw things I did not want to see. Shadowface laughing at me. My mother turning around and leaving after telling me to wait for her with the promise she'd come back, and the wind making her locks dance underneath the pale moon glow. And I saw faces flashing by, of all those who had hurt me over the years. It was like a collage, as if my memory had stacked them for future use. I dropped on my knees and began to crawl through the blackness. My head hit the wall and I placed my burning cheek on the cold stone and closed my eyes. I was dizzy, and judging from my running nose and sore, swollen throat I was pretty sure I had caught the flu.

I turned my head on the stone to cool off my other cheek. It had been at least four nights, I was sure of it, since I had managed to sleep four times. I'd only had two meals in those four days, but I was not hungry. My mind knew.

Once, in the shack, I had been alone for a week without any food. The fridge had been empty, I had no money, and there was nothing to eat but dry bread. The entire week I had survived on one small piece of stale bread a day, with tea and water. The funny thing was, I had not been hungry, not really. It was as if my mind had known that there was no point in complaining, that no matter how much my stomach would growl and how often I'd think of food, it was impossible to get food. I guessed that's what this was, my mind just knew there was no way I could get food, so it did not cry for it.

Ten nights, at least. There was a smell that only I could smell, the stench of sickness. Where were my so called friends? Where was my so called family? I rolled over the floor and let the cold floor touch every inch of my face and neck. I was shivering, yet sweating. I was hot and cold at the same time. I hoped I'd die in here. I knew about the arena, I knew even though I hadn't witnessed any of it. It was where I was going to end up. Who would believe my innocence? Nobody. Especially if they'd find out what happened to Ms. Porth. I clenched my jaw and hit my head on the floor. No, they did not know. I didn't even know.

I slept and woke up another five times. The plastic of the bottle grew warm in my sweaty palm. I rolled over. Staying on the same spot for too long caused the harsh stone to make my bones ache, so I kept rolling over. It'd been two weeks at least. Two whole weeks in the dark. I'd gotten another meal and a second bottle of water yesterday. I guessed they kept me fed just enough to make sure I'd stay alive. Maybe I should simply refuse to eat or drink. If I wanted to die before being tortured to death in the arena, that might be the way. My lips felt slimy and stuck together, and I took another sip. As I turned the cap of the bottle, my chest began to shake. I laughed, louder than I had ever laughed before. It felt as if I were outside my own body as I laughed. I hit the back of my head on the floor as I laughed, over and over. Everything was damn funny. I realized I had never expected to live long, but I had thought I would get killed by an angry mob, or suicide, instead of being tortured to death. That was another funny thing, I just kept drinking the water. I didn't have the discipline to resist drinking it and I did not have the balls for suicide. My laughs grew shrill, but I could not stop. At least I had gone on a date before I died. At least I had known true friendship before I died. At least I had gotten to know my family before I died. My laughter grew even more shrill, then I realized I was no longer laughing. Drops trickled from my eyes, down my cheeks and down my nose and down my lips. My shoulders shook as my loud cries sliced through the dark. What if my family believed I had done it? What if Spyro believed I killed his mother? The legacy I would leave behind would be the disgrace of my family. They'd hate my memory, talk about my corpse in disgust, spit on my grave, never knowing I didn't do it. I slammed my head against the floor and screamed.