The Same Name 🏹 Bellamy Blake

One

The Begenning

I stare up at the dark ceiling awaiting my defeat for far too long.

This ceiling, like every other ceiling I have whitnessed is boring. After years of just staring at nothingness and drifting off to nowhere the boredom that has ever enveloped me can still defeat me. Almost the only thing that can. At least ever since that day.

That day you may ask was the day I was thrown into this hellhole, never to return out into the society, we have built here, again. I was thrown in here for nothing, and yet I feel like I have had some part to blame in this event, yet i've no clue whatsoever it may be.

I'm not a murderer, I know that for sure, at least I think I'm sure, and I know for certain that I did not get caught stealing. Yes, I might have stole something here and there to stay alive but I don't ever remember getting caught, if I did.

The only reason I could have gotten caught was if one of the guards forgot his own schedule and accidentally went to the wrong post at the wrong time. Therefore it still would not be my fault, I would not be so foolish to have not know what the guards schedules were for where I could have taken something, if I had ever done that sort of thing.

But still I don't even have the slightest memory of doing such a thing. There are only so many rules to this place, and there are only so many ways to get stuck in one of these things. And I hate that I have to have the pleasure of being in here and not knowing.

As I flick one of the cups I kept from my tray into the air for the hundredth time a noise outside my holding cell catches my interest. Nothing in this place is very interesting, so every little thing I can listen in on is the only entertainment I can get. I catch the object out of the air with ease and place it down on the floor, standing slowly and walking to the door as the struggles outside my cage increase in volume.

As I get closer to the door the clearer the print becomes that is permanently painted on the door. There are markings above that have been crossed out and rewrote multiple times before mine alies. The print that is three little words and three little numbers, that tread on me like the biggest pain in the arse ever.

I stare at the name on the door, the only thing that is not plain in this room, but the only thing that feels unfamiliar, and out of place. This foriegn name on the door is supposed to belong to me, and the line after that is supposed to state my ranking.

Jessamy Jordan
Prisoner 327

Why is it that the only things that I own scare me the most? No matter how many times I read it or even say it out loud to myself I don't think I can ever get used to it. I sigh and try to force my mind off the topic by thinking about what kind of struggle I will put up when they come for me in seven months time. Or if I will be so ready to get out of this place that I will not put up any struggle at all.

Being seven months away from turning eighteen. It kind of scares me for it to be so close, and so far away at the same time. It seams like a very long time.

And it is.

But sometimes I wish time would speed up and it would be my time to be floated, to end this seemingly endless torture. To get it over with and not have to worry about it any longer.

But I guess that is the purpose for putting us in this isolation. They send us in here until our due date with only the three puny meals a day to keep track of time and no contact with the outside world.