“We were born as gifts to live as prisoners
We were defeated but we never surrendered”
I don’t reminisce the last time I espied the aubade in the titanic empyrean. I’ve been a prisoner here since a protracted and chronic epoch. These vacuous ramparts within which my censored caterwauls reverberate exigenting clemency and freedom from the shackles of this despondency and pain, has been my quarterage since that day. It wasn’t a solitary confinement as I wasn’t the only one held hostage here; my hopes, dreams, ambitions, they were my fellow inmates. It was a nemesis, however it is going to end anon. I was counting the minutes inside my head as I ensconced my tyrannized and subdued body in the Y(corner) of the room in the tenement. I could envisage that the quarter I was housed in was at the countryside, I could breathe in the sea imagining the swelling tides gracing the sands as the sand continued to flit in the hourglass, minute by minute I was nearing my divine decree.
I exclaimed to myself as I perceived the church bells ring in the distant. The door to the room opened, opening the floodgates to a lucent lambent, helping me to see my hands, wrinkled and aged, skin enveloped with scars and blemishes of dolor and torture.
“You’re strong, don’t ever believe when others say that you’re weak”, my mother used to remind me when I was too young and innocent to know how cold and phlegmatic this world was.
“Sorry Mother”, I whispered as my famine-stricken lips let out a silent prayer to the Gods, those who mercilessly watched me descend to my inevitable.
They came inside, three of them. Familiar faces. They had huge physiques, herculean and sturdy. One of them wore a cobblestone colored jacket, he had a weird tattoo on his neck, something written in mandarin. I didn’t put up much of a fight, I was defeated. One of them held my wrists taut, a sharp sensation of pain running up my broken arms. The one with the tattoo ripped apart my garb in a jiffy, castigating me, mauling me. I had lost my zing, I had lost this war. I was accoutred with my fading hope and unbashed skin. The third of them, pierced a syringe through my left wrist, drugging me as I inclined towards the state of passing out but I didn’t.
“Probably it was mild”
They toted me to the other room and stowed my body on the davenport. It was a dim lit room, the futon was poorly cushioned. I was paralyzed due to the corollary effect of the drugs flowing inside me. The walls were delineated with a hue of Xanadu, with a glossy stroke.
The two aligned my body while the other brought up his weapon of choice, as tears rolled down my cheeks, my face turning pale. He caressed his assegai, gliding his fingers through its fissures and crevices, a sleek metal finish innundated with a silver lining.
He adjusted the scope as I closed my eyes counting down, ransacking through the times I would always relish, walking down the memory lane. It was barely a minute wait before the muzzle flashed.
“I was defeated”
I woke up the next cockcrow in the same room where I was held as a prisoner to apprehend that I featured as the next victim on my captor’s defiled and adulterated online magazine.