Cobwebs

A dripping from the ceiling, the leaking keeping consistency with the seconds before it hits the concrete floor.

one... two... three.

Then a prominent dripping sound burbles into the stall.

Quietly, she sat lacing together the tattered ends of her weapon. She pressed the bleached bat into the air before heavily letting it clunk to the floor, making the cold walls echo the motion's sound back to her.

On the sides of her were was a closed in concrete space, with the only difference from a small cave being the metal door that had been placed in the heart of the walls. On the door was the tiniest slits representing bars, which was mostly to give the prisoners food, but she used to see the pieces outside of her solitary.

Over time and discipline, this has become her home. There were truly so many memories made in the space. An example being the claw marks she sunk in the walls like a cat, the bite marks in the doors unlocking handle, and the plate she shattered years ago, still uncleaned from the floor.

A ghost quiet, dark space with an inhabitants level of one.

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A shaking on the eldered door, the wood creaking open in the slightest. Through her cell she could still hear the door, swaying back and forth. It seemed someone just entered the reformer area, which is where they send the misbehaved prisoners.

She pulled her ears down with the cuffs of her sleeves and began to feel the wet sensation of sweat building. Her ears were tightly woven shut by her fingertips, as she rocked herself soundly. Even so, she could clearly hear the Guard and the Prisoner’s conversation, as they discussed his near fate.

“Sir- do you speak English? Please! Spare me,” He cried out to the guard in a panicked plead.

Though she didn't see anything from her position, she could hear desperation you'd see in a small child emulating from the man.

Instead of the guard lapsing out of the wrong judgment, he slammed his arm into the wall, the sound of his knuckles cracking on the concrete with a fierce grunt of superiority.

"Get in, boy." The Guard whispers.

Silence fell, almost solemnly. The Prisoner couldn’t argue with the Guard’s thick temper. A brick wall would have a better chance of being convinced.

The door slammed shut with the lock clicking into place... a curdling shriek occurred through the soundproof walls.

The pipes of the building roared along with the man.

Another victim of the reformer, and one more mind to be crushed.

At this point, she was more annoyed by the screaming than in any way she was emotionally attached to the victim. It seemed so was the guard, as he abandoned from his post to boredly pace in the hallway.

The echoing sound of the oversized metallic boots made a noise similar to gears loudly being slammed together. That was something she wasn't willing to put up with.

"Quit it!" She mumbled dryly, trying to sound intimidating in her high-pitched Chinese accent.

In a blind startlement, the guard twisted his neck to reveal an angered expression. His neck cracked back and forth trying to find who was showing such disrespect.

She rolled her eyes at the guard, "Peter, I said that."

Almost instantly was his face back to a sunken, normal, dull expression, as he realized there was no use in getting upset at a small child. Especially if that child was one he knew fairly well.

He gave a snort at the thought of the tiny thing ordering him around, "You'd think I'd get a hello."

She countered dryly, "You're lucky I said anything."

Both of them chose to ignore the blatant shrieking coming just a few feet away and found themselves in each others company. It's not every day there's someone to make small talk with, or talk with anybody at all.

The Guard, or by he's known to her, Peter, began speaking again, "The weather's been lovely outside, you would like it."

She gave a small wince that was close to undetectable. It's a hard concept to grasp... that there is even an outside of her stall after all these years.

"Describe it."

Peter thought trying to pick the right words.

"For the most part, it's blossoming. The city just feels... lively- rather than it's normal deadness. It's warm, and there are plants in every corner on the way here."

She sighed and closed her eyes, pretending to be out there now. The wind blew past her hair, smelling of dew and flowers. Her eyes were shielded shut due to the warm light that covered her. She lay there, in the soft grass with contentedness.

"I can bring you a flower if you would like that," Peter chimed to her.

Her reality was snapped back into her.

She bitterly stated, "It'll rot."

He gave a small shrug, "You know they rot out there as well."

She snarled at his small understanding of what she was feeling, "If they are going to die, I want to see it out there."

The pipes stopped its nightmare induced roar and was taken back by the silence.

"I guess the boy's through," Peter whispered, with a hinge of guilt laced into his voice.

Her stomach turned as she asked him quietly, "What happens to people when they enter The Reformery?"

"Nobody knows..." Peter whispered, "Nobody."