Post by Everette on Sept 27, 2009 15:53:11 GMT -5
All sense of time is easily lost when held in captivity. Hours pass and they feel like days, dragging on with the inevitability of time. The worst part of all was the second guessing. Originally, she tried to count off the stones making up the four walls in neat rows and columns, each block representing a second gone by. But as hours did pass, Everette began to doubt her method of counting; too slow, too fast. With nothing but the stray sound of a rodent lurking in the dark depths of the quarters outside of her cell, she clung to ticking away the time as a vice. But now, even that was lost.
By her guessing, she had been in there for five hours now, never knowing that her judgment was off by six. The sun's bright light never made its way through the very narrow slices in the thick, and heavily locked, wooden door. She would never be granted assistance with the time of day during her confinement punishment.
Eleven hours without food, or water, was already beginning to take its toll on the young woman; never having to go through such a torture before until today. Occasionally, she would flick her tongue over the makings of cracks in her chapped lips and then return to the cramped position she held before. She stared at the walls as if they were works of art, admiring the craftsmanship in each finely trimmed stone layered atop one another. Four walls, a door, a floor, and a moderately high ceiling. At least, it appeared much higher to her now since she remained bundled on the floor.
Everette inspected every nook and cranny of her pod many times before.
The door itself was sturdy with no flaws that her untrained eye could detect. It held markings from the inside, various scars and scratches that she assumed were created by the many attendants before her. There was a single opening in the door, a small indention covered by a horizontal strip of wood for the guards or other like watchers to peer inside, though it could only be opened from the outside by a handle that slid the protector back. She knew because she tried.
The walls were high and thick, and if anyone could hear her from within, they made no show of it. Every time she yelled at the door with a string of unladylike curses or demands, the only response in return was silence. They, too, held the remnants of weathering by the many like her forced to go through the same discipline method she had brought upon herself. Tiny nicks were left on the inside, many near the floor. Perhaps they were made by fingernails or small bits of stone rubble left behind in the design of the prison holders.
The stone floors were as cold as they looked. The entire 'room' seemed drenched in a bleak grey haze. Anyone caught in solitary confinement found themselves without a place to rest. No bedding and no extra cloth other than what one came in with. Sleep was not an option unless exhaustion forced them there.
It started with veneration for the skill in which the cell was made, but after time left with nothing but her thoughts, she reflected on the irony it all held. The very men that created this hold for the rulers before were the same men it was devised for in the first place. Her mind ran rampant with the realization that it was more than likely made for the defiant or disorderly workers in the Palace.
Everette would have taken that cruel twist created by the government to despise it more so than she already did, but she couldn't find it in herself. With her long lashes coming to lay against her cheeks, her blond head wavered back until coming into contact with the cold surface of the wall behind her. Her skinny, pale arms were beginning to ache from the clamped position they held around her midsection in a failed attempt to huddle what warmth her body still knew. Likewise, her thighs and calves would cramp from underneath her, forcing the girl to stretch them despite the freezing temperatures nipping away at her bones.
She should have been moving, pacing around her room as she had done many hours before; letting her temper control her sanity. But, she never had to grow up throughout the harsh winters as the people of Dysprosium, or any other lower class district throughout the cities. She never learned the little tricks to survive in the dropping temperatures as a child. She never had to go.
To keep herself distracted, Eve would massage at the discoloration of bruising along her wrists and lower forearms. They no longer were in pain so much for her to notice, but they helped to keep her mind as level as it could be. However, the distraction wasn't enough to block out the throbbing ache in her lower back. After eleven hours of neglect, her kidneys had had enough.
Very slowly, she forced her way to her knees with the aid of the wall. Her soiled, off-white gown bunched at her hips, and despite the lack of viewing eyes except her own, she smoothed the grungy fabric out as she brought herself to stand. Her feet were in great amounts of discomfort, though she refused to remove her boots in fear her toes would just fall off from the cold. Steadily, she made her way to the door and with a bunched fist, began to pound on the wood for attention. Again, she was disappointed in the lack of an answer, so she continued her assault and began to yell, "Please! Let me out!...I have to use the privy!!"
By her guessing, she had been in there for five hours now, never knowing that her judgment was off by six. The sun's bright light never made its way through the very narrow slices in the thick, and heavily locked, wooden door. She would never be granted assistance with the time of day during her confinement punishment.
Eleven hours without food, or water, was already beginning to take its toll on the young woman; never having to go through such a torture before until today. Occasionally, she would flick her tongue over the makings of cracks in her chapped lips and then return to the cramped position she held before. She stared at the walls as if they were works of art, admiring the craftsmanship in each finely trimmed stone layered atop one another. Four walls, a door, a floor, and a moderately high ceiling. At least, it appeared much higher to her now since she remained bundled on the floor.
Everette inspected every nook and cranny of her pod many times before.
The door itself was sturdy with no flaws that her untrained eye could detect. It held markings from the inside, various scars and scratches that she assumed were created by the many attendants before her. There was a single opening in the door, a small indention covered by a horizontal strip of wood for the guards or other like watchers to peer inside, though it could only be opened from the outside by a handle that slid the protector back. She knew because she tried.
The walls were high and thick, and if anyone could hear her from within, they made no show of it. Every time she yelled at the door with a string of unladylike curses or demands, the only response in return was silence. They, too, held the remnants of weathering by the many like her forced to go through the same discipline method she had brought upon herself. Tiny nicks were left on the inside, many near the floor. Perhaps they were made by fingernails or small bits of stone rubble left behind in the design of the prison holders.
The stone floors were as cold as they looked. The entire 'room' seemed drenched in a bleak grey haze. Anyone caught in solitary confinement found themselves without a place to rest. No bedding and no extra cloth other than what one came in with. Sleep was not an option unless exhaustion forced them there.
It started with veneration for the skill in which the cell was made, but after time left with nothing but her thoughts, she reflected on the irony it all held. The very men that created this hold for the rulers before were the same men it was devised for in the first place. Her mind ran rampant with the realization that it was more than likely made for the defiant or disorderly workers in the Palace.
Everette would have taken that cruel twist created by the government to despise it more so than she already did, but she couldn't find it in herself. With her long lashes coming to lay against her cheeks, her blond head wavered back until coming into contact with the cold surface of the wall behind her. Her skinny, pale arms were beginning to ache from the clamped position they held around her midsection in a failed attempt to huddle what warmth her body still knew. Likewise, her thighs and calves would cramp from underneath her, forcing the girl to stretch them despite the freezing temperatures nipping away at her bones.
She should have been moving, pacing around her room as she had done many hours before; letting her temper control her sanity. But, she never had to grow up throughout the harsh winters as the people of Dysprosium, or any other lower class district throughout the cities. She never learned the little tricks to survive in the dropping temperatures as a child. She never had to go.
To keep herself distracted, Eve would massage at the discoloration of bruising along her wrists and lower forearms. They no longer were in pain so much for her to notice, but they helped to keep her mind as level as it could be. However, the distraction wasn't enough to block out the throbbing ache in her lower back. After eleven hours of neglect, her kidneys had had enough.
Very slowly, she forced her way to her knees with the aid of the wall. Her soiled, off-white gown bunched at her hips, and despite the lack of viewing eyes except her own, she smoothed the grungy fabric out as she brought herself to stand. Her feet were in great amounts of discomfort, though she refused to remove her boots in fear her toes would just fall off from the cold. Steadily, she made her way to the door and with a bunched fist, began to pound on the wood for attention. Again, she was disappointed in the lack of an answer, so she continued her assault and began to yell, "Please! Let me out!...I have to use the privy!!"
