Eika is coughing loudly. Very loudly. The type of coughs that make adults
look up and say "You have a cold. Go to bed." Eika, however, has had this
cough for three weeks now, and is only just now getting the other symptoms
of a cold. But she just feels the need to write what's happening very
badly, so she's staying up late and typing through a stuffed nose and a
headache. She realizes this will have just the sort of effect she's hoping
for in her writing, especially because she knows she doesn't have a clue
what to write.
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I stare at my captors from where I sit on the platform, resisting the urge to once again scream. I don't want to be doing this, I just want to go home, but I have no choice but to be here. My muscles are aching, I want to curl up and die, and instead I'm being held captive by people who will torture and kill me as slowly and painfully as possible.
"Hello again," States King Zidane, smiling nastily into my prison. He unlocks it, releasing me into the room of no exit. Even if I do manage to kill them and get out of here, it'll take too much time to guess the combination, and by the time I get out I'll be weaker still, and they'll have guessed something wasn't right and prepared to kill me. I don't move, stare at my lap, breathing slowly and steadily while trying to control my shakes.
"Would you like to come out?" He tries again, holding the door open and beckoning. I see this out of the corner of my eye. I also notice that the ones who were there last time, the Queen and knights, the princess and defect, aren't there, that I'm alone with the King of Alexandria. Obviously they decided he'd be best at breaking me. I don't move don't blink, just breath slowly and evenly though I know he can see me shaking. I feign deafness, it might work. I hope it does.
"Remember our agreement? At least look at me while I'm talking to you, so I can tell you're listening." Crap. I look upward, still breathing carefully, but not very far. Far enough away from my lap to see his legs, far enough away from eye contact so he can't guess anything about me.
"Pleeeeease come out? I don't bite." Idiot. I don't fall for baby talk, I don't listen to what you're saying voluntarily. I'm stuck listening and being tortured by you; don't try the baby talk like I'm an infidel.
However, then he plops down on the floor, dropping down so suddenly and quickly to sit Indian style and stare me in the face that I don't look at my lap in time. I know my mask dropped for a few seconds then from surprise; uncle was always on my case about that. I glance away immediately, but during the time he got a glimpse of my face, and emotions, I saw something come in his face: pity.
Why pity a prisoner? They're using it to break me, fake emotions and strategies to make me say all I know, to tell them all I'm keeping hidden.
I can hear him talking, a soft murmur of constant words that seems not to end. "We won't hurt you, why won't you believe that? What makes you so scared of other people that you try to kill on sight? Why do you shake when you see us, and scream? We won't hurt you. We just want to know why you did what you did. Why are you so frightened; what happened that made you so scared?"
It's so soft, I can't tell if he's talking to me or himself. I'm still shaking, still struggling to breathe in that same calming manner, and though his voice is soft I can hear every word. "You're safe here. Whoever hurt you; whatever happened that made you so mad, so scared of other people can't do anything to you now. Won't you let us help you? We'll make sure whatever happened never happens again." Scum. Lying to try and make me trust you, tell you everything I know. I'll be tortured, injured, hurt beyond belief. Stop putting it off, it does no good to make believe you can gentle me into believing you.
I'm still staring at my lap, not succumbing to the temptation of looking up. His voice is quiet and calm, made to soothe. I'm still shaking badly, but he's still at least, not coming any closer. "Why can't you tell us what happened, or why won't you? What's wrong? Do you have a family, any relatives at all?" My thoughts instantly leap to Clara and Uncle, but I push them aside, I can't afford to think of them now. "Are you an orphan without a home, or are your parents alive? Do you have any uncles or cousins?" Uncle. . . I miss you. . . I can't show weakness. It's just what he wants. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Clara. I wish you were here.
Instantly tears form in my eyes, though I try to stop them. I miss my little sister, her jokes, her complaining, I even miss her constant little worrying over every detail. Closing my eyes, I try not to let out a sound. And still he talks.
"We just want to help you; can't you understand that? Before we can, we have to know what happened. We know your name is Catalina; we know you're about nine years old. What else is there to you? Why did you kill so many people?" My eyes are shut against the flow of tears from Clara. I wish he'd shut up, he's not going to do anything by talking like this. I'm still shaking still breathing the same way, yet a tear escapes my eye. I wipe it away quickly, knowing he didn't notice.
Something touches my leg; I jerk, eyes popping open, and see his hand resting there. Scrambling back onto the platform as quickly as I can manage, I see that while he was talking he closed the door to my prison, and came close enough to touch me. I scramble off the bed, to the door of the cage to open it.
It won't open. The lock has been locked, keeping me with him, as he gets up and starts walking towards me. I edge around the outside of the cage, away from him. He keeps walking towards me, still talking. "What's wrong? I won't hurt you. I just want to know what happened. You can trust me, Catalina. I won't hurt you." He's nearly within distance of reaching me now, and I run as far away as I can, to another side of the cage. He turns and follows, looking at me squarely so that I drop my gaze.
My breathings ragged, I'm shaking, and I don't know how long I can keep this up. He talks still, walking towards me again. "I won't hurt you. Calm down. It'll be ok. I just want to know what's wrong. Why are you so scared of us? Why did you kill so many people?" He's nearly caught up to me again, so I run to another side. Or try to, but he grabs my arm.
I instantly begin to struggle, to try and get away. His grip is firm enough that I can't though no stronger than necessary. "Catalina, I just want to help you." He says voice firm. He leads me over to the platform and sits on it. I try to hit him with my other arm, but he grabs it, turns me around quickly. Tugging on them, I'm forced to sit down, right next to him, though he turns his head to face me. I can't bend my legs in the correct direction to kick him, I can't get my arms from his grip. He's still facing me, still talking calmly.
"What happened? Can you tell me that, at least?" I wrench myself backwards, though my arms are still stuck fast. His grip doesn't hurt, but I can't get out of it, no matter what I do. I throw myself off the platform and onto the ground violently, in an effort to get free. Bang my head viciously, but he doesn't let go. He 'helps' me up, and I give up struggling, as obviously there's no way he's letting go short of being knocked unconscious. Wait. . .
"You ok? He asks me.
I spit in his face. Startled, he lets go of me and wipes the lugey from his eyes, and within seconds I'm at the other side of my prison.
Calmly, he looks at me. "This is going to take a while, isn't it?
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Merry Christmas.
Catalina (hits her over the head with a hardcover-book) : You're sick. Go to bed already; it's nearly eleven p.m.!!!!!
Clara: You DO realize that won't stop her from writing another chapter or two over break?
Catalina: Duh. Nothing short of being tied to her bed stops her, because her writers block travels from this story to another story so she's always typing SOMETHING.
Clara: Good. Ready?
Catalina: Yup.
Clara: 1, 2,
Catalina: 3!
Clara + Catalina: And a happy new year.
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I stare at my captors from where I sit on the platform, resisting the urge to once again scream. I don't want to be doing this, I just want to go home, but I have no choice but to be here. My muscles are aching, I want to curl up and die, and instead I'm being held captive by people who will torture and kill me as slowly and painfully as possible.
"Hello again," States King Zidane, smiling nastily into my prison. He unlocks it, releasing me into the room of no exit. Even if I do manage to kill them and get out of here, it'll take too much time to guess the combination, and by the time I get out I'll be weaker still, and they'll have guessed something wasn't right and prepared to kill me. I don't move, stare at my lap, breathing slowly and steadily while trying to control my shakes.
"Would you like to come out?" He tries again, holding the door open and beckoning. I see this out of the corner of my eye. I also notice that the ones who were there last time, the Queen and knights, the princess and defect, aren't there, that I'm alone with the King of Alexandria. Obviously they decided he'd be best at breaking me. I don't move don't blink, just breath slowly and evenly though I know he can see me shaking. I feign deafness, it might work. I hope it does.
"Remember our agreement? At least look at me while I'm talking to you, so I can tell you're listening." Crap. I look upward, still breathing carefully, but not very far. Far enough away from my lap to see his legs, far enough away from eye contact so he can't guess anything about me.
"Pleeeeease come out? I don't bite." Idiot. I don't fall for baby talk, I don't listen to what you're saying voluntarily. I'm stuck listening and being tortured by you; don't try the baby talk like I'm an infidel.
However, then he plops down on the floor, dropping down so suddenly and quickly to sit Indian style and stare me in the face that I don't look at my lap in time. I know my mask dropped for a few seconds then from surprise; uncle was always on my case about that. I glance away immediately, but during the time he got a glimpse of my face, and emotions, I saw something come in his face: pity.
Why pity a prisoner? They're using it to break me, fake emotions and strategies to make me say all I know, to tell them all I'm keeping hidden.
I can hear him talking, a soft murmur of constant words that seems not to end. "We won't hurt you, why won't you believe that? What makes you so scared of other people that you try to kill on sight? Why do you shake when you see us, and scream? We won't hurt you. We just want to know why you did what you did. Why are you so frightened; what happened that made you so scared?"
It's so soft, I can't tell if he's talking to me or himself. I'm still shaking, still struggling to breathe in that same calming manner, and though his voice is soft I can hear every word. "You're safe here. Whoever hurt you; whatever happened that made you so mad, so scared of other people can't do anything to you now. Won't you let us help you? We'll make sure whatever happened never happens again." Scum. Lying to try and make me trust you, tell you everything I know. I'll be tortured, injured, hurt beyond belief. Stop putting it off, it does no good to make believe you can gentle me into believing you.
I'm still staring at my lap, not succumbing to the temptation of looking up. His voice is quiet and calm, made to soothe. I'm still shaking badly, but he's still at least, not coming any closer. "Why can't you tell us what happened, or why won't you? What's wrong? Do you have a family, any relatives at all?" My thoughts instantly leap to Clara and Uncle, but I push them aside, I can't afford to think of them now. "Are you an orphan without a home, or are your parents alive? Do you have any uncles or cousins?" Uncle. . . I miss you. . . I can't show weakness. It's just what he wants. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Clara. I wish you were here.
Instantly tears form in my eyes, though I try to stop them. I miss my little sister, her jokes, her complaining, I even miss her constant little worrying over every detail. Closing my eyes, I try not to let out a sound. And still he talks.
"We just want to help you; can't you understand that? Before we can, we have to know what happened. We know your name is Catalina; we know you're about nine years old. What else is there to you? Why did you kill so many people?" My eyes are shut against the flow of tears from Clara. I wish he'd shut up, he's not going to do anything by talking like this. I'm still shaking still breathing the same way, yet a tear escapes my eye. I wipe it away quickly, knowing he didn't notice.
Something touches my leg; I jerk, eyes popping open, and see his hand resting there. Scrambling back onto the platform as quickly as I can manage, I see that while he was talking he closed the door to my prison, and came close enough to touch me. I scramble off the bed, to the door of the cage to open it.
It won't open. The lock has been locked, keeping me with him, as he gets up and starts walking towards me. I edge around the outside of the cage, away from him. He keeps walking towards me, still talking. "What's wrong? I won't hurt you. I just want to know what happened. You can trust me, Catalina. I won't hurt you." He's nearly within distance of reaching me now, and I run as far away as I can, to another side of the cage. He turns and follows, looking at me squarely so that I drop my gaze.
My breathings ragged, I'm shaking, and I don't know how long I can keep this up. He talks still, walking towards me again. "I won't hurt you. Calm down. It'll be ok. I just want to know what's wrong. Why are you so scared of us? Why did you kill so many people?" He's nearly caught up to me again, so I run to another side. Or try to, but he grabs my arm.
I instantly begin to struggle, to try and get away. His grip is firm enough that I can't though no stronger than necessary. "Catalina, I just want to help you." He says voice firm. He leads me over to the platform and sits on it. I try to hit him with my other arm, but he grabs it, turns me around quickly. Tugging on them, I'm forced to sit down, right next to him, though he turns his head to face me. I can't bend my legs in the correct direction to kick him, I can't get my arms from his grip. He's still facing me, still talking calmly.
"What happened? Can you tell me that, at least?" I wrench myself backwards, though my arms are still stuck fast. His grip doesn't hurt, but I can't get out of it, no matter what I do. I throw myself off the platform and onto the ground violently, in an effort to get free. Bang my head viciously, but he doesn't let go. He 'helps' me up, and I give up struggling, as obviously there's no way he's letting go short of being knocked unconscious. Wait. . .
"You ok? He asks me.
I spit in his face. Startled, he lets go of me and wipes the lugey from his eyes, and within seconds I'm at the other side of my prison.
Calmly, he looks at me. "This is going to take a while, isn't it?
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Merry Christmas.
Catalina (hits her over the head with a hardcover-book) : You're sick. Go to bed already; it's nearly eleven p.m.!!!!!
Clara: You DO realize that won't stop her from writing another chapter or two over break?
Catalina: Duh. Nothing short of being tied to her bed stops her, because her writers block travels from this story to another story so she's always typing SOMETHING.
Clara: Good. Ready?
Catalina: Yup.
Clara: 1, 2,
Catalina: 3!
Clara + Catalina: And a happy new year.
