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I • we are the hollow men

CHAPTER ONE

W E  A R E  T H E  H O L L O W  M E N

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The world was shrouded with darkness and agony, and it coated the skin of those unfortunate enough to still be alive. Those whose voices had been swallowed by the darkness, but their miserable lives persisted forward.

The girl knew that her life was miserable, that everything she had gone through ever since she woke up that first time down here, was the definition of misery. Her life was one crafted from pain and shadows, but she had long ago made her peace with that.

She didn't know her name. She had been called many things down here, in this damned pit; Demigod, Wisdom's Daughter, Annabeth, Hero of Olympus. But she had learned long ago to never trust so much as a syllable from the mouths of those who kept her here.

Someone was crying. Soft whimpers that were undeniably the product of someone attempting to suffocate the cries through pressing a hand to their mouth. But the silence was thick beneath the ground, and even the softest of noises was heard. The girl bit her lip, but said nothing to the crying person. Everyone down here had cried; it was the only coping mechanism that existed. There was no way to end the torture, only cry before, after, and during it.

But crying meant dehydration, and there was a limited water supply. The girl didn't cry when she was left alone, and she tried not to cry during the hours of torture. But she had been down here the longest; not everyone had grown as accustomed to this life as she had.

Part of her wondered if she had been born down here. This was all that she knew, all that she remembered, so who was to say that it wasn't the truth? But the girl could remember things, sometimes, things that she had no recollection of seeing. Like the Sun shining onto a green world, or a wide expanse of ocean, or a place even darker than the one she was trapped in now. The girl enjoyed thinking about the first two places, but the third always found her in the worst of her nightmares.

"Shut up," a voice hissed through the darkness. The girl jumped slightly, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. The whimpered crying continued. "Shut up," the voice repeated again. The girl frowned, but remained silent.

No one bothered her in the corner that she had long ago claimed. It was an unspoken rule, that the corner belonged to her, and no one else was welcomed to step foot into it. That rule was respected by those trapped here, but her captors did not care about the survival skills of the damned; they followed their own laws, all of which did not concern her opinion. The only time someone that was not her stepped into the corner was when they came to drag her away. The bottom of the wall was marred with scratches; the girl carved a new one every time she woke up. She had no way of knowing how many hours had passed each time she opened her eyes, but it was the only way to keep track of the time that passed while trapped here. She ran her hand (the one that was not currently broken) over the marks, tracing the memorized grooves with the tips of her fingers. They provided solace, the only kind that the girl had ever known.

She craved warmth. She craved light. She craved the open expanse of the sky. She craved the opportunity to leave this place, if only for a minute, to experience something other than the eternal darkness that birthed only pain.

Her left hand twinged in pain, and the girl cradled it closer to her chest. It had been broken three wake-ups ago, and she could feel it had long since swelled past the size it should be. There was nothing she could do but hope that she would be left alone.

The warm body pressed against her shifted slightly, most likely attempting to get comfortable on the stone ground. The girl frowned, and silently willed her body to become soft, to not be all bones and awkward angles. The other body didn't seem to mind, and slowly, she could feel arms wrapping around her middle.