Powerful

Chapter 2: The Unthinkable

Fire. Fire burning me, inside of me, engulfing me in the heat. I screamed, but no one heard. I pleaded for mercy, but no relief came. Pain rolled over me, like waves on the ocean, submerging me in the torture. And in the background, ringing in my ears, behind my screams and my cries, were laughs. People were laughing, laughing at my agony. Why were they doing this to me? What did I do to deserve all this? Why, why, why....I fell asleep muttering the unsolved question.

~~

When I opened my eyes, I thought I was still sleeping. All I could see was white: white walls, white ceiling, white floor, even white clothes. Instead of my jeans and purple T-shirt from before, I was dressed in starch white pajamas, with a blue number 20 sewed on the lapel.

I sat up, my head swimming, my body aching. This place...it was all strikingly familiar...but my mind was still clouded by the pain. Ahead, a boy with tousled dirty-blonde hair and a number 6 sewn on his pajamas was gazing at me sadly. He seemed familiar too. My eyes wandered past him, past the warped bed, to the far wall. Large dents covered the metal.

The flash of memories hit me so hard I had to grasp at the wall to keep from falling to the floor. The wall was smooth beneath my fingers. Glass. I was in a cell, a cage, just like those other kids. I beat uselessly on the window. But if that boy could punch holes into metal walls, yet still couldn't escape, what chance did I have?

Something was moving in the hall; I pressed my face closer to see. It was Gary and that other man - Walsh - strolling leisurely down the corridor, talking, although all I could see were two silent, moving mouths. When they passed, Gary waved casually to me, as if we were old friends. I pounded on the glass as hard as I could, screamed at the top of my lungs, cursing those men and every bit of ground they occupied. I screamed until my throat burned raw and no sound came out. Anger seeped out of me, into the surrounding air, making me feel lighter....lighter?

I looked down and gasped. I was floating several feet off the ground. No, no, no....this wasn't possible! With this new surge of fury, I rose higher. My head bumped the ceiling, as did the metal cot I had been lying on. I shrieked and grabbed at something - anything - to pull myself down. The moment my fists unclenched, the feeling of weightlessness vanished, and me and the bed were sent crashing to the cold, hard floor. I winced, but didn't bother nursing my wounds. I just let the tears fall onto the white cement. Pain and sorrow flooded through me until I felt I would never feel again. The boy watched me with mournful eyes, but I didn't care. I didn't care about him, or about anything else. My life was over. Those two men - those horrible, awful men - had done the unthinkable. They had turned me into one of them; a freak. More tears escaped and I fell into a dreamless sleep.