Don't You Cry For Me - Cobi

"I really don't want to do this to you again," I say, sliding the chair across the dirt floor until it's feet align with the four divots where it sat before, for days, with John's weight pressing it deeper and deeper into the earth with every one of his desperate movements. Everytime I begin to feel sorry for John and question myself for keeping him locked down here, he says something that reminds me of how dangerous he truly might be.

"So why are you?" He asks. Begs. His voice is heavy with pleading, although he is trying to appear strong. He stands against the wall before me, head rolling with no particular beat while he watches me decide his fate yet again. I catch the deep wells of his cheeks, hollow like our stomachs, and for the first time, he looks a lot like something I know all too well. A prisoner.

"Look, I've started eating, just like you wanted. I stayed away from the exit. You fell asleep and woke up, and I'm still here. What more do you want from me?" He moves his arms around as he speaks, urgency shaking his voice. I watch him in my peripheral as I grab the thick ropes I used to tie him up the first time. "Why?"

His question tosses around in my blurry mind. Why?

For a moment, I'm transported into a calmer state of mind. My heart slows and my eyes close. When they open, I'm on my father's lap. The fire in front of us burns my young skin, but the heat feels good - welcoming, like a hug. My father sings to me as he prods the flames with a long stick, and I watch the embers soar high above us, dancing as they reach for the ceiling of our humble home.

"Where did you learn that song?" I ask him. He smiles.

"I wrote it for you. When you were too young to stand."

"What's it called?"

"Mira."

"That's all?"

"All?" He sets the stick down at our feet, and the blackened tip sends out a light stream of smoke, like a butterfly exploring the small room. "Mira is a powerful name," he says with a look of assurance.

I urge him to continue with a face of bewilderment.

"Your mother knows of languages from long long ago. Languages that died in Praimfaya. She holds books of knowledge from the world that existed before ours."

I smile, picturing my mother sat near the window, book in hand every morning.

"She said, of all the words of all the languages she's read, Mira is the most powerful. The most wise."

"What does it mean?" I beg, inching closer to his face, admiring the flame that dances in his eyes.

"To see. Sight. Vision," he breathes, hanging onto every word with great importance. "You are a visionary, Mira. You can always see a brighter tomorrow. The shackles of this world can never hold you down."

John's chains clank against the floor as he walks in circles, pulling me out of my memory. The warm embrace of my father vanishes in an instant. I wish I could go back. Just stand here, still, and sink back into that past reality. Just for one moment - one second longer. But, John is restless, and the chains he carries in circles with him only grow louder in this echoing pit. Suddenly, he stops, and the metal rests in place.

"Look, I know things that you want to know. Things that wouldn't make sense to you right now."

"Oh, really? Like what," I question, spitting the words out like fire, unable to control the rapid pulse in my veins. Every word he says is another slap in the face of everyone I've ever loved. My aunt. My mother. My father. He makes their deaths sound meaningless. He makes every night I've spent hidden away inside this hole seem pointless. He makes my survival seem stupid. "The only thing I want to know is how to get you to shut up for just one second."

"So you want power, then," he continues, ignoring every wish I have for him to stop dragging this on. I look at him - differently this time - really look at him. I feel my face twisting as my vision narrows, my eyes like slivers, struggling to grasp his true emotion. He lifts his head from its relaxed position against the wall and takes a confident step toward me. Slowly. "You want me - " He moves ahead with each word. " - to sit still -" Until he's inches from my face. My eyes are glued to his features as the candle light illuminates inch after inch. First, the slow disappearance of his grin. Then the sudden furrow of his brows. And finally, the shuddering power in his eyes as his arms extend and he jolts the chair out of my grip. And I let him, because I'm too taken aback to react quick enough. He slams the chair against the ground, the wooden feet sinking deep into the ruddish dirt, and turns his back to it.

"You want me to be quiet," he says with intensity. I take a step back. For the first time, I back down, unsure of the true power of his strength and not wanting to find out. As I grow the distance between us, I watch him fall into the chair. I shudder at the unexpected shrill of chains that hit the floor with his movements. The heavy metals kick up dust around us. "You want me to play your game."

Silence.

I see nothing else except his eyes. The world around me turns black, but John's stare is gripping me at every limb.

"I promise I'll behave this time," he says, unable to prevent the grin that slowly appears at the corners of his mouth. He's amused. I would be. I probably look like a lost animal - in my own home, too.

"Well?" He continues, bringing me back to reality. He laughs, and it echoes louder than ever, casting a fog of confusion inside me. "Tie me up."