Where I Belonged

I woke up with a tear in my eye and pins and needles locked in my heart. I am not certain as to what I dreamt of, or why I dreamt it, but ever since, the ache in my mind and soul never left me. As soon as I lifted my sleep-ridden body with great difficulty off the ground, the stench of vomit and my own, sweating body spun me into surging waves of nausea. "Oh God," I felt myself say-or imagined it?-as I clutched both of my sides and keeled over onto the bitter concrete.

After wiping away resentful tears, I blinked and finally took in my surroundings. Instantly, I took a deep, shuddering breath. I had about sixteen feet of space, and enclosing me was an bleak, uniform grey which brought the word "suffer" to my mind. About a foot over to my left, a squat, metal toilet reeked of the ill prisoners that stayed here before me. As if I could use a word such as "stayed" to describe the wretched experience of those behind these walls. The toilet was the only "furniture" that this cell consisted of. On the side of the room opposite of where I was standing, there was a metallic-grey, heavily bolted door. On the walls beside me, I could see tiny rows of tallies etched into their surface.

Most of the marks on the wall drooped and seemed, to me, to be hanging themselves. It made me wonder if I would too, given the chance. I thought about this for a few minutes, and afterwards I resolved, or, rather lied to myself- that I would not.

Would I?

After glancing around the barren cell, I looked down at myself, which was something that I had not done for a while. My hands, which I had never really noticed before, although I had plenty of time to think about them, were cracked and bloodied. My knuckles were as pale as the first light of the moon; they looked as though they had never seen the light of day before. And they hadn't, not for a long time. My whole body, as I scanned from the feet up, looked as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Purple bruises covered nearly the entire surface of my arms, and in contrast, my pale skin glowed like the eerie presence of a ghost.

On my feet were ragged, run-down sneakers- the only things left on me that reminded me why I was here. The rest of my clothing consisted of dirty, unwashed shorts and a black t-shirt: thankfully, they allowed me to wear regular clothes here. This was my only blessing among many detriments. As I studied my arms closer, I noticed the resemblance between them and dead animal bones picked clean by vultures. Everything about me, it seemed, was completely dead. As I sat slumped over by the toilet, I attempted to make the slightest turn of my head, but it seemed too heavy for my feeble body to bear.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to imagine what my face looked like: I imagined gaunt, pale cheekbones, dark, brooding eyes with blue circles around them, and a sagging posture that gave myself the pitiful look of an kicked dog. I was still wondering about my appearance when I heard a startling knock at the cell door:

"Dinnertime! Get up, you filthy rat!" A deep, ragged voice snarled. His voice made me jump back a few feet, and I bumped into the wall hard on my left shoulder. I couldn't help wincing a little, but I kept my volume down enough so that I wouldn't be heard. At first, I had the wild idea that I would finally get a chance to break free of my restraints, to walk out of my cell, if only just for a moment, as a "free" man. But as soon as I heard the click of the tiny, rectangular door which often deposited my food, my hopes were crushed. A heavy anchor was tied to my heart, and in my despair, it crushed the rest of my body with it. I sunk down to the ground with quivering knees, and I anxiously snatched up the food that was waiting for me.

I have never prayed more in my life than this evening, and all I was hoping for was for the meal not to consist of the usual, bland soup that I had grown so accustomed to consuming.But after I pulled off the foil surrounding my tray, there it was, waiting for me. A bowl of thick, grey soup that taunted me and threatened to destroy what little of my spirit I had left.

END OF PROLOGUE.