All usual disclaimers apply. Short chapters, but more are coming! ^_^;;
Please let me know what you think.
**
The silence of the night was piercing. Nothing had ever been so silent. If even a single needle was dropped, the whole room would surely carry its echo because of the emptiness that it surrounded it. A sudden breeze was heard outside the window and the shadows of a branch being moved by the wind displayed itself on the wall. The silver glow of the moon rays couldn't reach the room, however, and it wasn't strong enough to bring any light in it. Even without light, though, he knew what was in each part of the room. There was a single twin bed by the corner and a simple and old wooden nightstand next to it. On the nightstand, there was a small lamp and, on the other corner of the room, there was a wooden rocking chair; its shadow appearing as if there was a person sitting there, watching him.
And that feeling was what made him sit up in bed. He had been in that room for days. So many days that it now felt like he had always been there. His clothes were simple and, even if they had been once comfortable, now they were old. No shoes or socks were on his feet and, even if it was cold, he didn't care. It also seemed like it had been a really long time since he had cared about anything at all, and his appearance showed it. Even if his hair was cut, he had last shaved about two days ago because he had been forced to. His eyes were lifeless, drained from energy. There wasn't a trace that those same eyes would burn holes through his foes as he glared at them merely some months ago.
He was tired. Tired of waiting.
Tired of being in this place.
How long had it been since he had been outside? How long had it been since he had felt the same breeze that was making the branch move? Felt like years. He shouldn't be here. He didn't do anything. Looking around, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he came to the same conclusion: he didn't belong here. This place was too depressing for him. Standing, he slowly walked through the darkness and towards the cabinet that was under the window; his bare feet ignoring the fact that the cold floor felt like ice. Opening a drawer, he took out a small and forgotten box that he always kept there. The only thing that he was allowed to keep in this hellhole.
With a heavy and tired sigh, he walked very slowly back to the bed and sat down, scooting all the way to the corner of the bed where two walls met. Leaning against the cold wall, he leaned his head back against the wall, tired.
He was tired of waiting.
It took a while for him to gather the courage he needed to open that box. Slowly, he untied the strings that held the box closed and, once they were off, he opened it. His eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, considering that he spent most of his stay in this very room in darkness. He didn't need light to see what was in that box. That box held the reminders of his past life. Of his past accomplishments. What he had once been. What he had once dreamed of keeping.
What he dreamt of holding on to.
Slowly, he spread out the things that were in the box. Every paper he had in there. It wasn't just papers to him, though. They were reminders that he hadn't been locked in there for long. Reminders that he had a past:
And perhaps that he had future.
The pain that each paper brought, though, almost made him crumble every single piece of paper and throw it away. With each touch, a pang would strike against his heart; remembering what each thing meant. Magazines clippings that other people from this place had given to him. Pictures that he had brought. Mere papers, but.they represented everything that he once had been. What he couldn't be anymore.
"What are you doing.?"
At the whisper, he looked up immediately. He wasn't scared. He wasn't surprised, either.. The feeling that someone had been watching him had been correct. Shaking his head, he started to put his pieces of paper inside the box once more. As he talked, his voice sounded low as well, "Leave me alone."
He could hear the footsteps getting closer to the bed. He could hear how much closer the shadow that had said the whisper was getting. At the small click of the lamp, though, he flinched back the light and covered his eyes with one hand.
The whisper hadn't been a shadow. He hadn't imagined it. "I told you once: You shouldn't go through those things. They hurt you."
"Why shouldn't I.? Leave me alone."
"You will never be the same. You will never leave from here."
"Yes, I will."
"Is that so. And what makes you so sure?"
He looked up, not frowning. He wasn't scowling, either, at the conversation that he didn't want to be involved in. Hadn't he said to leave him alone? And he didn't even know why he had said he was ever going to leave from this place. Perhaps for the fact that, part of him, still hoped to be left out. Part of him still wanted to be free.
To go back to normal.
"I'm sure.because I'm The Rock. And no one, not even you, can do anything about it."
**
The silence of the night was piercing. Nothing had ever been so silent. If even a single needle was dropped, the whole room would surely carry its echo because of the emptiness that it surrounded it. A sudden breeze was heard outside the window and the shadows of a branch being moved by the wind displayed itself on the wall. The silver glow of the moon rays couldn't reach the room, however, and it wasn't strong enough to bring any light in it. Even without light, though, he knew what was in each part of the room. There was a single twin bed by the corner and a simple and old wooden nightstand next to it. On the nightstand, there was a small lamp and, on the other corner of the room, there was a wooden rocking chair; its shadow appearing as if there was a person sitting there, watching him.
And that feeling was what made him sit up in bed. He had been in that room for days. So many days that it now felt like he had always been there. His clothes were simple and, even if they had been once comfortable, now they were old. No shoes or socks were on his feet and, even if it was cold, he didn't care. It also seemed like it had been a really long time since he had cared about anything at all, and his appearance showed it. Even if his hair was cut, he had last shaved about two days ago because he had been forced to. His eyes were lifeless, drained from energy. There wasn't a trace that those same eyes would burn holes through his foes as he glared at them merely some months ago.
He was tired. Tired of waiting.
Tired of being in this place.
How long had it been since he had been outside? How long had it been since he had felt the same breeze that was making the branch move? Felt like years. He shouldn't be here. He didn't do anything. Looking around, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he came to the same conclusion: he didn't belong here. This place was too depressing for him. Standing, he slowly walked through the darkness and towards the cabinet that was under the window; his bare feet ignoring the fact that the cold floor felt like ice. Opening a drawer, he took out a small and forgotten box that he always kept there. The only thing that he was allowed to keep in this hellhole.
With a heavy and tired sigh, he walked very slowly back to the bed and sat down, scooting all the way to the corner of the bed where two walls met. Leaning against the cold wall, he leaned his head back against the wall, tired.
He was tired of waiting.
It took a while for him to gather the courage he needed to open that box. Slowly, he untied the strings that held the box closed and, once they were off, he opened it. His eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, considering that he spent most of his stay in this very room in darkness. He didn't need light to see what was in that box. That box held the reminders of his past life. Of his past accomplishments. What he had once been. What he had once dreamed of keeping.
What he dreamt of holding on to.
Slowly, he spread out the things that were in the box. Every paper he had in there. It wasn't just papers to him, though. They were reminders that he hadn't been locked in there for long. Reminders that he had a past:
And perhaps that he had future.
The pain that each paper brought, though, almost made him crumble every single piece of paper and throw it away. With each touch, a pang would strike against his heart; remembering what each thing meant. Magazines clippings that other people from this place had given to him. Pictures that he had brought. Mere papers, but.they represented everything that he once had been. What he couldn't be anymore.
"What are you doing.?"
At the whisper, he looked up immediately. He wasn't scared. He wasn't surprised, either.. The feeling that someone had been watching him had been correct. Shaking his head, he started to put his pieces of paper inside the box once more. As he talked, his voice sounded low as well, "Leave me alone."
He could hear the footsteps getting closer to the bed. He could hear how much closer the shadow that had said the whisper was getting. At the small click of the lamp, though, he flinched back the light and covered his eyes with one hand.
The whisper hadn't been a shadow. He hadn't imagined it. "I told you once: You shouldn't go through those things. They hurt you."
"Why shouldn't I.? Leave me alone."
"You will never be the same. You will never leave from here."
"Yes, I will."
"Is that so. And what makes you so sure?"
He looked up, not frowning. He wasn't scowling, either, at the conversation that he didn't want to be involved in. Hadn't he said to leave him alone? And he didn't even know why he had said he was ever going to leave from this place. Perhaps for the fact that, part of him, still hoped to be left out. Part of him still wanted to be free.
To go back to normal.
"I'm sure.because I'm The Rock. And no one, not even you, can do anything about it."
