Anowa's Watchtower
-I-
The Aftermath of Certain Agendas
I suppose now should be the time to address certain matters in order to not confuse you even more. Then again, confusion is a beautiful thing in this wondrous tail of mine. If you were to call me by the name in which you do then you misunderstand, if you were to call me by the name in which Reepicheep does, then you would understand better, but if you were to simply address me by my name then you shall understand completely. Simply put, for all intents and purposes, I am the Angel No One Wants Around, Anowa.
The night of October 1st, 1938 was a dark one for most of us. The day the Czechoslovak Republic lost a spine as well as the same day in which the Great English power of position was handed over to German insanity, was the same day in which Reepicheep grieved for seven hours and thirty-six minutes…
"It has a name. The name in which you gave him. It. The name in which you gave him. It, by the way, implies, in this case at least, a thing that can be disposed of…"
He had been sleeping in a cage, a relatively constricting one, for three days, and for those three days he had not eaten a single morsel of food. I tried to offer him some but realized extremely quickly that mice do not necessarily eat as much as I do nor the same types of food. Shaking profoundly as if he were experiencing an impulsion from within himself, the mouse vomited up liquid stench. Looking around, the rodent sniffed the air and found darkness amidst his own excrement and metal enclosure.
A large man, balding in his forties, fiddled with a key outside of the dark room. My rodent was not necessarily up to speaking or doing much of anything, all he was really focused on was trying to survive in this hellish state. As the metal door opened, two metal covered feet entered along with light that cascaded onto the earth and onto the slaughter.
Reepicheep, who could see against the gray, looked down onto the floor and noticed a mangled hand, a twisted foot, a bashed head, a torso without anything and this and more and this and more among the floor.
"Well, well, well, looks like the rat is awake." The man said with a smile that mimicked my father.
"Perhaps you will learn to keep your mouth shut."
Reepicheep stood as tall as he could and noticing that he still had vomit in his mouth, spat in the man's face.
"A voice silent in this slaughter is a member of the slaughters, you degenerate psychopathic twit!"
"Ah," the man said reaching out to him with a mangy hand. "I help people with their lives. I save them from embarrassment, burdens, life-"
"At the cost of what!?" Reepicheep shouted, interrupting the man midsentence. "At the cost of what, sir?"
The devilish man did not answer him, all he did was shake the cage a moment and turned around back towards the door in which came from into that faux light of disillusion. I wanted to intervene and tell my dear friend that those who misunderstand what the organization that placed you here is, shall one day understand what the true definition of torture is. Reepicheep kept his stance and when he was in darkness again he breathed a moment and sat down on his tail.
"You could have been the ones to lead me. Instead you were the victims of a system that mocks all that we stand for. Sweet martyrs…do not let this darkness betray you into believing that you are alone. For I am in this darkness as well."
So am I, my dear rodent.
