I don't remember what happened. Just snake-like eyes and a laugh so shrill that it resembled nails on a blackboard more than a human voice. A flash of green and then a whisper of promised death. Then pain pain pain pain... and then... here I am.
Maybe I'm insane by now. You know, If I were this place wouldn't be half bad. It's all the same color... I've lost the name for it, names don't matter anymore. But it's dull and lifeless, the worst sort of color. A few days after I came here I used to make myself bleed just to change the colors. Now there's a brown stain here and there, but it's all this same color, the color that reminds me of nothing.
There should never be a color like that. All colors should remind you of something, an emotion, a memory, a song, a whispered promise... the color that came from my body reminded me of a flower. I remember the flower's name, but it is useless to me. Perhaps you can use it. It reminds me of a poppy.
And of love. Did I ever have love? I must have at some time... because I remember feeling whole, instead of like a great part of me is simply missing. I remember having the will to move, to speak, to run and dance and grin and laugh and...
Laugh. I haven't laughed for a very long time. Nothing to laugh about, no one to laught with. Laughter is nothing unless there's something to hear it. It's only beautiful when you know someone can at least know it's there. So I don't laugh. There aren't even mice to keep me company. I thought there were supposed to be mice in places like this, to match the decor.
I made a joke. This day has become remarkable. Usually all the days just blend together... I stopped keeping marks a long time ago... not that they told me anything. I don't know when I came, so how many marks I make can only remind me of these long periods of wakefulness. Can a person sleep to death? Maybe I should try.
I bit through my wrist once, to see if anyone cared. Just to see a face, damn it. I've forgotten what I look like, let alone another human being. Or maybe I'm not human-- is that it? I feel unconscious and when I awoke, no one was near but my wound healed and I was still alive.
Poison? I haven't eaten for years. It's some kind of spell or the like. They give me nothing. Nothing to amuse myself, nothing to kill myself. So I sit. I don't think I've moved forever. I don't know. But it seems like forever. I just don't want to move anymore. There's no crack in the walls-- the walls are the same clod metal, not a crease or corner, just sloping up or down to make the floor and ceiling.
It would all be better if I just didn't think so much.
I see things against the walls sometimes. Just shadows. Little whispers of things that might have happened. Sometimes I think I'm there, but there aren't any faces, just shadows...
"Harry, you can't do that."
"I've done it before."
"We've all done it before! It's our job."
"Let me go, Harry. It's an easy job."
"No!"
"Yes, let him go in your place, Harry."
"I'm going. No argument."
I really believe that was the stupidest moment of my life. I should have let Harry go. He wouldn't have gotten himself captured, locked up like this. Harry would have died first. Harry would have been braver. Harry Harry Harry...
His eyes. His eyes... they are the color of dreams and of hope, of strength and courage. Those eyes can make you feel on top of the world one moment and dying in the very pits of the blackest dispair the next. Those eyes have more power than he shall ever know.
I wonder if there was a final battle. I wonder who won. I wonder if I am forgotten here, supposed dead or gone. I wonder if I shall speak again, and I wonder if I am dead or alive, and I wonder...
Is this death? Is this what my life came to? All those moments of hate and happiness... in the end, is this my final resting place?
Has my life been wasted....?
