I groggily wake up again after a sudden jolt. The first thoughts to pervade my mind are who am I? Where am I? I can’t see?! Can’t breath?! Can’t. . . Then a soft reassuring voice comes back to me. “Breath. Just focus on the little things, the things you know for sure. Breathe in. And out. And concentrate. In and out.” In and out. In and out. In and out. I am Mary Elizabeth Smith. I am sixteen years old. I live in . . . or lived in? And all at once the panic resumes as I try to decide where I live . . . or had lived?
The squeaking of rusted iron gates open slowly, and they clang back together as they are forcefully released. I try to twist my head to see who my visitor is, but find I can’t move it more than an inch to my right or my left. I can hear him . . . or her . . . jumbling what appears to be a mess of metal together, mixing something that smells like food better suited for a pig. Soon after, the man comes into my vision. He has tufts of what appear to be dust sparsely scattered on his otherwise ageing head. His skin appears to be glistening, as if he was just dowsed in water, but grimy coloring suggests otherwise. He sneeringly smiles revealing rows of rotting teeth, each decorated with their own pattern. And then he looks down at my body and begins to release the straps holding my head, arms, and legs.
My every muscle, every fiber feels as if it’s vibrating. I have never felt this weak in my life, at least not the life I have memory of. The life I have memory of is this cold, damp room. This cold damp slab of stone. The cold chains that hold me in place. The cold people that visit. And the cold that haunts my body and mind. From somewhere far away a raspy voice wiggles its way into my ears and sends shivers down my spine.
“Sit up my dear so that you can eat. We wouldn’t want you to starve now would we?” Automatically I push my tired body away from the stone and swing my legs over the edge. My body sways but I feel a firm rough hand steady my back. As if I have been trained, I open my mouth when the spoon is presented to me. A scalding, chunky liquid burns its way down my throat and I gag. A hand clamps over my mouth forcing me to swallow the liquid and as I feel it plummet down to my stomach I choke and grab the water offered to me to try and erase the vile taste. He sneers at me and emits a haunting chuckle as he presents the next spoonful of the slop. The next one slides down my throat, same as the first, burning all the way, leaving blistering scars. I keep opening my mouth and he keeps pouring the food down as I gag and try not to breath in the heavy scent of something rotten. He scrapes the bowl, trying to get every last bit of the stuff, each spoonful nastier than the first, only this time the food has become lukewarm. It no longer burns my throat, but I can now taste the slop, and as it runs down my throat a new wave of nausea rolls over me. Spoonful after spoonful, swallow after swallow, the gooey substance clogs its way down my throat, solidifying and landing with a thud in my stomach, which, even though it’s full, never ceases emitting moans.
After my feeding I am tied back down and the man leaves, with a promise to return. Following his exit I release a string of the most despicable curses I can think of. I lay there, hoping for some response, anything, I just want someone to talk. And when none comes, and after I finish crying and my throat is raw, I slip into a fitful sleep and dream.
You’re trapped and everywhere you turn there is another image of you, staring at you. From every wall, every angle, every corner you smile back at yourself. You turn the corner hoping to escape you only to end up back in your deadly stare. You are trapped in a twisted fun house, searching for the exit and hoping you don’t find one. Because do you know what waits for you at the exit? You. And that is when the rattling of the bars wakes me from my slumber signaling another new day, another new day in which I wait desperately for my escape.
Muffled talking. Hurried whispering. Then nothing. Musty and damp. They have covered my head. Covered it with a sack. As black as night. The clamps fall away from me. I am lifted into the air. Strong muscular arms hold me. I am carried out. out of my cell. For the first time. And I can’t see my freedom. Can’t even catch my first glimpse. I don’t care. This is it. I know this is it. I am going to be free. I know he is taking me to freedom. This man is a friend. I know he must be. We are running now. Skirting around corners. He falls. Then stands back up. No matter what. Not matter how many falls. He always gets up. We make it out. I can feel the sunlight. It kisses my skin. And then, blissfully, nothing.
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the smell. It’s not the smell of my old home, but rather a fresh, sweet smell. And then I notice the green. The floor on which I lay, the structures which grow out of the floor. And then I see him, sitting next to me, watching me.
In a shaky voice I speak my first civilized words in this new life. “Are you my rescuer?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. But. . .” my heart starts to pound as I realize I am in a strange place, with a strange man. And everything here is different. There are no walls, no protection from those creatures that I was told want to kill me. And it’s too bright here, uncomfortably so. And the air moves here. It blows my hair and stings my skin, I feel as if it must be bewitched. I can’t stay here, not even if I am free, because I am not safe here. “But I have to go back.”
“You can’t go back there.”
“Like ever?”
“Yes, like ever. Welcome to paradise.”
“Paradise ?! Seems more like. . .”
“Well its not!” his anger scares me even more than my keeper’s silence used to.
“It’s not what??”
“Nothing.” he says before quickly glancing down at his hands folded neatly in his lap.
“Are you referring to the fact that this isn’t paradise, or that this is hell?”
“Is there a difference?” He asks with a smile, as if this is some joke that I am missing. I think about what he has just said, and then realize I don’t know! I don’t understand anything. All I do know is my cell was the only home I can remember, but I must have lived somewhere else before. “Maybe I lived here?”
It’s not until he answers in the affirmative that I realized I was speaking aloud. “Really?”
“Yes, you grew up here. We. . .you used to run through the fields, and collect flowers. You would weave them into a wreath and wear them on your head. You called yourself princess of the forest. It was really. . .”
“It was what?”
“Nothing. I forget.”
“We. You said we. Did we know each other?”
“I didn’t say we.”
“Yes you did. You almost said ‘we used to run through the fields.’”
“Mary, do you remember anything of this, of home?”
“No. . .Wait yes. I remember the sun. The way it used to kiss my skin and make me feel warm. I used to love sitting out here, under the sun, and soaking up the warmth.”
“So you don’t remember anything else?”
“No, I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”
“Mary I . . . you . . . we’re married.” A million thoughts run through my head at once, and yet the same one keeps resurfacing. Married? I can’t be married, I’m sixteen years old!
“No. We are not married. I don’t who you are or what you want but you will take me back home!”
“Sure, we can go home. Let’s just first. . .”
“No, I don’t want to go with you! I want you to bring me back to my new home. I’m safe there, I know I will be safe there.”
“They had you chained up!?”
“It was for my protection! Don’t you understand!? It’s dangerous out here, I need to go back. Take me there.”
“I can’t Mare. They were going to kill you there, or worse.”
“Worse!? Nothing could be worse than being in this strange place with you. Take me home or I will run away.”
“Mary, taking you back there will kill me, it will kill me! I just can’t do it. I just got you back. Please Mare; you must understand why I can’t take you back.” Tears fall down his face and land on my lap, and then I see that they are my tears too.
“I’m sorry. I don’t who you are, or what we are, or even who I am. But I am sorry. And, if we are married, and you love me, then you’ll know why you have to take me back. Please? Just take me back. Please.”
“Okay. Because I love you, I will take you. Let’s get you home.”
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