I do not own any of the character or story elements or any of the quotes; this is only for funs don't sue me! Lol Just a short story.

EVEY'S POINT OF VEIW

I'm freezing, tired...hungry and most of all I'm all alone. What happened to Gordon? Oh god I hope he's ok...

Tears pricked behind my eyelids. Fuck.

What will happen to me? How long will they keep me here? I was crying now, the taste was salty in my mouth. I cried because I didn't want to die.

I balled myself tighter in a ball in the corner of the stinking cell, the tiny scrap of material they forced on me was barely covering my modesty. I shut my eyes tight, and cried for hours until I fell unconscious from exhaustion.

Why me?

When I awoke, I had a bitter taste of blood in my mouth. It was freezing, if they didn't kill me first, I most definitely will die of hypothermia. I started to cry again.

When the door opened the light hurt my eyes.

'You fucking piece of filth! Get up!' The man snarled at me, and he kicked me in the gut. Arsehole.

Whilst I was gasping for breath, the man came down to my level. I couldn't see his face; it was silhouetted in the light my eyes hadn't accustomed to yet.

'Get up Bitch, cause guess what?' He leaned in close enough to kiss me; I could smell the sweat... 'The day's just beginning.'

Dread knotted my stomach, and settled in my chest like a tumour. God please...have mercy on me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man shoved me back in my cell. I was battered from the inside out. I tried desperately not to think about what they did to me. But I replayed it in my head over and over, feverishly.

They started with a bit of 'Light' torture, dunking my head into a barrel of water, drowning me until I fell unconscious, then beating me awake.

Of course they asked me questions, but the only answer I could give was 'I don't know!' or 'I don't want to die.' This just...infuriated them more, so they moved on to excruciating humiliation. They hung me from the ceiling naked, and well... did things I never wish to speak of.

And so it went on, I lost all sense of time. They never let up, not for one minute did they go easy. I shared my meals (if they were even that) with the rats of my cell. Every day being worn down. Time began to mean less and less to me. Days, nights, weeks, months, years. Day after day, pain after pain. They drowned me, strangled me. They raped my mind body and soul.

Then the letter came.

In my cell, there is a tiny hole which is the only source of light I have, like a tiny source of hope. The tiny curled parchment slotted into the hole. The writing was swirly, and looped but cramped. I read under the watery light that poured out of the hole.

"I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince
you that this is not one of their tricks, but I don't care. I am me, and I don't
know who you are but I love you. I have a pencil. A little one they did not
find. I am a woman. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won't be able to write again,
so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I will ever
write and oh god I'm writing it on toilet paper.

I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven
plus and went to girl's grammar. I wanted to be an actress. I met my first
girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen
but we were both in Miss Watson's class.

Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful.

I sat in biology class, staring at the pickled rabbit foetus in its
jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people
outgrew... Sara did. I didn't.

In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet
my parents. A week later I moved to London, enrolling at drama college. My
mother said I broke her heart, but it was my integrity that was important. Is
that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is
the very last inch of us...

... But within that inch we are free.

London: I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My
first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible
crowds behind the hot lights and all the breathless glamour. It was exciting
and it was lonely. At nights I'd go to Gateways or one of the other clubs,
but I was stand-offish and didn't mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I
never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was
their life, their ambition, all they talked about... And I wanted more than that.

Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in
'The Salt Flats.' It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth working
on that. We loved each other. We lived together, and on Valentine's Day she
sent me roses, and oh god, we had so much. Those were the best three years
of my life.

In 1988 there was the war...

... And after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.

In 1992, after the take-over, they started rounding up the gays. They took
Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us?
They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name.
She signed a statement saying I seduced her. I didn't blame her. God I
loved her. I didn't blame her... But she did. She killed herself in her cell.
She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch.

Oh Ruth.

They came for me. They told me that all my films would be burned. They
shaved off my hair. They held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes
about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can't feel my
tongue anymore. I can't speak. The other gay woman here, Rita, died two
weeks ago. I imagine I'll die quite soon.

It is strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three
years I had roses and I apologized to nobody. I shall die here. Every inch
of me shall perish...

... Except one.

An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world that's
worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must
never let them take it from us.

I don't know who you are, or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never
see you. I may never hug you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I
love you. I hope you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that
things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could
kiss you.

- Valerie"

I read it in small segments over the course of my everlasting existence. The words spoke to me like a message from god himself, they gave me hope. They gave me a reason.

I would not let them take my last Inch. My soul.

They brought my food as usual on a withering metal platter. I ate what I could stomach; I would need my strength as I used the edge of my bed to split the plate in half.

I lay down on the wooden cot. The rats came to bid their farewells. I got the half of the plate that was the sharpest. I thought about my mum, my dad and my brother and the things they stood for. The things they died for. I brought it down on my wrists.

"I know every inch of this cell. This cell knows every inch of me. Except one."