I wrote this short one day, when I was bored. It's pretty short; about two pages in a 'Word' document. I just sat down and started writing, and this is the result… I wish that kind of inspiration would come to me more often.
It's been far too long. It feels like forever, but still I'm waiting. You'd promised me that no matter how long it took you'd save me from this place. While there is any shadow of hope that you will keep your word, I will wait.
I never see daylight here, so it's impossible to mark the time in any way. I don't know how long it's been since the day I was free; since I ran, since I walked..... since I could even see anything at all other than the muted grays of the darkness. I'm trapped within these four walls, windowless with only one heavy door. That door is locked to me, since the moment I woke to this strange existence.
The only time there is some break in this living death is when my mind shuts down. I dream in colors, bright vivid colors compared to my world. At first the dreams only portrayed benevolent things, reflecting how my trust in you kept me hoping. As the unnumbered days passed, things began to change. The dreams changed from something uplifting and wondrous into something threatening. I always wake afraid. It isn't the dreams I'm afraid of, I realize now. After my nightmares, my mind is more vulnerable to other horrors.
Real horrors.
You're never going to come.
That's what my dreams speak to me, and what I'm trying desperately to forget.
Because I know it now, I have for a long time. You're not coming.
I can't hope to change that fact. I know it in my soul and in my mind now. I should have seen it long ago, when you first let them take me away. We couldn't both get away, you said. But if you could get away, you'd come and find me later.
You'd come and save me.
For who knows how many weeks I waited. For as much pain as I was in, I made myself embrace it. It was going to purge me, to make me worthy of you, when you did come. I'd be your queen, you said. When you came again you'd stop hiding me, a common girl from your people. You'd dress me up in pretty satin, and marry me, no matter how many people protested. People would call me beautiful, although you said I was all along.
Now I have barely the strength to raise an arm. I've grown weak from sitting chained, from wanting something with everything inside of me, but watching it fall to pieces slowly.
I don't even have the will to live anymore. I don't even see how I'm still alive. I shouldn't be alive.
I don't want to be alive.
I can't last another day, and somehow that's comforting.
The guards outside of my cell are conversing, and with my last breaths I make myself know to them. Words fall out of my mouth, unbidden. The tune I sing is weak, but steady, and if I were stronger It might have beautiful. It's the lullaby my mother used to sing to me before she died, the one I'd sing to my sister before I abandoned her for you.
But the lullaby is not for anyone else this time. It's for me. I sing it as a goodbye, to leave some testament of myself, to tell those I love how sorry I am, how much I regret wasting my life..... and to tell myself that as well.
I breathe with the night, synchronizing my heartbeat with the life of the day.
From far away, I hear distant chimes, signaling that midnight has finally come.
