The Beginning of Nothing

Oubliette

A/N: Oubliette: (N.) A dungeon with a door only in the ceiling; a place you put people to forget about them...

Warning: Mild Gore!!!

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She chopped her hand off.

I don't know why she thought that would help her escape.

She chopped her hand off. The screams of agony afterward still echo through my head, luring it to hell. I did not want to see the fingers moving, even after they weren't connected to her wrist. I did not want to see the voluminous blood pouring down her arms, drowning her in red. I did not want to see the grimy piece of glass she used to do so.

She chopped her hand off and took off her handcuff. Her skeletal figure is embedded in my mind, coupled with her face when she got up in tears. Her gauntly features appeared whenever I closed my eyes. She was a walking ghost.

And when she tried climbing up the brittle stacks of hay, she painted it red - signifying her sins. Signifying the sins of us all. She got to the top - her stub, already affected by a myriad of bacteria and diseases. She almost reached the door on the ceiling, the only door there was. She almost grasped the handle when she lurched; the final challenge of life. Her fingers were centimeters away from our only escape.

But she fell.

She chopped her hand off, and now she's dead.

She wasn't the first one to meet the devil. Many have done so before her, but I stopped counting at 13. What surprised me more though, wasn't that she died - that seems to be a pattern around here - no, it was the way she died. Most girls just gave up, claiming that they didn't want to live a life of torture. But this one - Luann, I think her name was - this one tried. She tried to leave. And she was only centimeters away from doing so.

And sure, her screams were frightening, but nothing I've never heard before. What haunted me the most about her death, however, wasn't her herself. Instead, it was her sister Emaa. The pretty blonde howled when Luann gripped the shard in her hand. So, it was quite appalling to watch her sink to the ground and bawl over the limp body on the floor.

It was just the two of us now. And quite frankly, it'll only be a few days before Emaa gives up too.

Before I give up.

What else is there to do, now that the government is justified to capture innocent souls and torture them?

We could have been living happy lives - me, one with my muma and brother.

But instead, I've learned about 20 ways I could kill myself using a shard of grubby glass and hay.

If only the government could seize the ones they're really looking for; the fausettés.

Politicians call them trouble.

Citizens call them aliens.

But I, I call them misunderstood.

Humanoid creatures that are one brain cell away from being considered part of our kin. They have the ability to control their mind in such a way that they can go against anything. Even hypnosis.

And that's alright with me.

But, I guess it's not that great for the government when a fausetté is a terrorist that refuses to say a word when under investigation...

I guess it's not that great when the paranoia of the government causes them to kill everyone. 

Even humans. 

I remember the first time I was in the presence of one of those tranquil creatures. It was a 7-year-old boy; to innocent to die, but to knowledgeable to live. His chocolate brown skin matched the pigment of the mud that day. He sprinted from the heartless guards, whose souls were colder than rocks'. They kept telling him to stop, but his lanky legs created a larger gap between them with every step.

That is, until they caught him hiding behind a fruit cart. They shot the lady who was tending to the cart straight in the forehead and grabbed the little midget by his arms.

"You'll never run away." One of the guards hissed.

And that was the last I saw of him. He had no reason to die. I guess the administration just doesn't want a gang of slightly improved humans controlling the place.

If only they were treated normally...

No one knows who the fausettés are. There's no genetical background of any sort to point to a possible suspect. It was more like a haphazard disease; spreading to only some, while not affecting others.

Sometimes, the fausettés spend their entire lives thinking that they're human. Right until someone comes knocking on their door and heaves them away.

I clicked my tongue in distaste. 

"Why didn't you stop her?" Emaa's voice cut my pensive thought's from flitting around some more with the hiss that she gave off.

"Honey," I chuckled a little, knowing that the desperate girl would end up doing the same thing. "I did try. I told her not to do it, and that she was going to regret it."

I stopped trying to get into their brains a while ago. At first, I frantically tried to prevent them from finalizing their decision. But, after a while, it seemed pointless. That's what all of them do.

Except me, of course. Because dying isn't going to help anyone.

"Well, WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP HER?" her voice roared throughout the desolate cage that we now call "home."

"Why didn't you?" I countered.

"How was I supposed to know she'd actually do it?"

"You're in a prison with no escape except the one above our heads," I muttered, pointing above to the handle that Luann just missed. "Why did you think she wouldn't've?"

Her voice came in a whisper as she phrased, "I thought.....I thought we'd have escaped by then."

If I could laugh, I would've.

Unfortunately, the lack of water did not help.

Motioning Emaa over, I thrusted a shard of glass at her and stared her in the eye. "She made her decision. Now you make yours."