Prologue
Amara
I could be dramatic and say that darkness was all I could see, but am I really even seeing anything if it’s all dark? I stopped counting how long I had been here a time ago; my only indication of time passing was the masked guard that came in to turn on the red light and bring me food twice a day.
That was the only light I ever saw. The dim glow of red made anything look unappetizing, but it was also the only reminder that anything was real, that I was real. I spent time memorizing the silhouette of my hands, the water cup, the guard that always stood in the corner.
I wish he would talk to me. No one had spoken a word to me since I was put here. The only sound besides my own voice and the silence was the faint music I would hear from time to time. It just made everything worse.
I struggle to remember the sound of the river, the waterfalls. the harmony of my father's deep laugh as it mixed with my mother's soft giggle. The more time that passes, the more I can’t remember.
In sleep I am still. I don’t dream, I don’t think. It’s the only respite I get from this abyss. I just want to be gone. To not exist anymore. I crave the endless slumber more than I crave to be freed from this perpetual darkness.
All I can remember about my life is the early parts of it. Bright spots of my childhood, my mother's eyes, the forest, the trees, the flowers. But the longer I’m here, the more the color of the memories fade. Soon they’ll be black and white. Maybe one day they’ll be gone altogether. Then what will become of me?
I wish my captor was merciful, choosing to kill me instead of leaving me in this void. Choosing to starve me until I met my end of days. Allowing me to fall ill, get injured, anything to escape this. But I didn’t have such luck.
They made sure I stayed well fed, tube feeding me when I refused. I was always clothed and kept comfortable. No one ever touched me. At least not while I was awake. Every once in a while, I would get dizzy and pass out. When I awoke, I would be on my mattress on the floor. My nails would be trimmed, my hair brushed but never cut. I would feel energized in a way that had me holding on for just a little longer.
For what? Why were they keeping me here? Why were they keeping me alive? Why were they taking care of me? Why wouldn’t they just kill me?
I can feel the path the tears would take, but they stopped flowing a long time ago.
