Disclaimer: I don't own the Worst Witch
A/N: Hey guys just thought I'd drop in since I've been spending quite a bit of time in the Corrie fandom as of late. Anyway this is just a wee one-shot that came to me whilst I was having my hot choc before my lecture this afternoon, whether it's any good is another thing, but it works in my head lol.
Enjoy :)
Trapped
Locked away deep in the dungeons her screams go unheard. They practically are now; they've given up, her voice has died. Now all that escapes is merely above a whisper, the words barely gracing the air.
The air around her is thinning; what little oxygen she has left is running out fast, draining away slowly like the sand in a timer. Only a single grain remains; it's stuck in the corner the now, clinging on, but the minute it falls. That's it.
Her fingernails are torn and bleeding from desperately clawing at the four walls around her; desperate to find a way out and her freedom from her own personal hell she's been locked inside.
Her eyelids flutter as the blackness seeps the corners of her vision, taking over her body. She allows it; not point in trying to fight the inevitable, she doesn't have the strength left.
Just as they flutter closed for what will be the final time, the door unlocks and she is saved.
Later her tutor tells her it was an accident, she says nothing but she knows it was far from it: you don't 'accidentally' push someone into a space, no bigger than an airing cupboard, then 'accidentally' close the door and then 'accidentally' lock it behind you. Leaving them for hours, wondering if this is how their life will end.
Still she says nothing, but makes a silent vow to herself.
To escape.
XxX
When she finally left WTC and went to Cackle's Academy, she really thought she had. It was the only place she had ever felt she belonged; teaching young witches gave her such purpose; it lit up the spark in her she thought had died away to nothing many years ago.
She really thought she'd put the past behind her; put to rest the demons that haunted her mind. Then had come the news: privately shattering her demeanour, hidden away behind the mask she wore. The inspection.
Heckitty Broomhead was coming to Cackles.
The minute the words had registered in her ears all the old feelings and fear came flooding back to her; panic coursing through her veins, she drew blood as she dug her fingernails deep into her palms to keep herself from crying. The poisonous voice; the cruel laugh manifesting itself in her ears; each decibel gets louder and louder as it takes over her rational thought, grabbing the invisible reins of control in her mind. It's laughing at her. And at that moment she realises.
She's not escaped at all.
She's just changed the setting.
She's still trapped.