Alright so this is a little different than my main story. This is just going to be a collection of one-shots that I am writing to experiment with different styles and tonalities that a scene may require. However, to accomplish this without much set up is that I will have to break a cardinal rule of adapted writing. Rather than writing my scenes, characters, and motivations to the established universe of the source material, I will be writing the universe to fit with the specific tone I need for each scene. This will probably feel jarring, but the point of writing these one-shots is to explore different moods and themes that I am not accustomed to writing about. Hopefully you will enjoy reading these, and hopefully the weird situations I put characters in don't take you out of the experience. Also, another way that I am separating these one-shots from my main story is by setting each point of view to someone who is not Gregor. That's just so I don't mess up my head-canon by confusing it with these strange scenarios I am creating to meet specific scene requirements.
tl;dr - All of this takes place in an alternate universe where character motivations and the world around them is all wonky so I can do what I want.
This story takes place way before any of the books and is from Hamnet's point of view when he is in the dungeon after disobeying Solovet.
Without further ado, please enjoy
How long had he been locked up in here? Days? Weeks? The concept of time alluded him. The only indication was when a tray of food was pushed through the slot on the door of his cell. But even that was inconsistent. He once spent the entire period between 2 meals counting the seconds to try and find out how long it had been. Each time the result had been vastly different.
Mother. Just the thought of the despicable general left him feeling sick. Never before had Hamnet felt pure hatred towards anyone. Not even the gnawers he was sent to kill garnered this much anger in him. Now, because of one misstep in a council meeting, she had simply tossed her own son into the dungeon to torture him.
Hamnet was familiar with the concept of torture. He knew it was ineffective in the best of soldiers, and his mother knew that too. Soldiers were trained to adjust to anything and everything. Humans were hardwired to be able to, in just a few days. Even constant beatings can be adjusted to. The problem with adjusting is it needs patterns; something to latch on to and allow to become routine. His mother had removed any form of pattern from him. With food coming at irregular intervals, he had no bearings for anything. The darkness kept him from finding any physical location. The small amount of light that would seep into the room every time food arrived always revealed his location in his cell; and it was always somewhere he did not expect to be. As much as he hated to admit it, his mother knew the true form of torture. It wasn't pain. Torture was time.
Insanity started to appear after his 13 meal. Trying to get ahead of it, Hamnet devised a plan. He began to speak to the walls. The idea was when the walls talked back, he knew he had lost his mind. When the walls gave him information that he would in no way have any knowledge of it meant that he was beyond saving. When that time came, he was confident that he would be able to kill himself by running into the walls with enough force and frequency. Strangely, the morbid idea calmed him. It gave him something to do.
9 meals later he ran out of things to say to the wall. Try as he might, there was nothing he could conjure up to keep himself talking. His mind was completely worn out. The wall never spoke back to him. He felt like he had lost a friend. A bond. Someone he would do anything for. The walls were his only comfort and even they had abandoned him.
2 meals later he realized it was he, not the walls, who had been the deserter. He was the one with nothing to say. Immense shame and guilt built up in the solider. He began to weep, curling up in what he hoped was the center of the room, as far away from those he had failed as he could get. Soon he ran out of energy to weep. Just occasional bursts of air came out of his mouth which somewhat resembled sobs.
Sleep was also inconsistent, try as he might to keep it so. He had hoped to keep 3 meals between each rest, but it rarely came out that way. He even tried ignoring the food and forcing himself to sleep before he would reward himself with nourishment, but eventually hunger won and he told himself (and the walls when he was still speaking to them) that he would do better next time.
After a combined total of 28 meals, Hamnet was desperate for any form of connection. Even the walls wouldn't interact with him. His small meals of bread and water didn't have anything to say either. Even hugging himself, just to feel some form of warmth and pressure on his body was futile.
His mind started to take over. In an attempt to survive the imprisonment without succumbing to insanity, it tried to take control of the stream of consciousness. The truth was, this just led to even more insanity. A thought which began about the trees in the Garden of Hesperides would ride the train of thought and become thoughts of his own situation. Thoughts of when he would leave. Thoughts of when his mother decided he had been tortured enough to be subordinate. Thoughts of how he could escape through death. How he could kill himself. How he could bring himself to the point of no return so he wouldn't have to worry about not being able to go through with whatever plan he had.
After 32 meals, he gave up. Hamnet laid on the ground. Waiting for his release. Waiting for his end. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Well there it is. Hopefully that wasn't too bad. Please review as the purpose of this experiment is to better my writing. Thanks for reading!