Hello once again! Sorry for the long wait, I had my first bit of writers block. I promise the next update will be sooner! But for now, please enjoy is strange, dark chapter!
He couldn't feel anything when he dragged off the stage. The numbness coiled around his body, seizing control of everything, overriding all of the boy's protests. His mind screamed at him to run, to hide, to fight, to do something. While his body remained a sculpture, one which was the embodiment of fear.
Running. He had to run. Where? He had no clue, but he couldn't stay there. He just couldn't. There was a feeling, in the pit of his stomach, a primal urge, to get the hell away from that wretched place, to go as far as possible. If he didn't, if he stayed… What would happen? Nothing good, definitely not. And he really, really didn't want to know what it would be.
Chains rattled as he was dragged away, but it sounded so distant, so peculiar. His eyes were glazed over, wide open yet seeing nothing. Was this what it felt like to be blind? It wasn't dark, it wasn't black. No, that wasn't what he saw. What the boy saw was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No colour, no darkness, no pretty field of flowers. It was an empty void, one which he couldn't even be sure he was looking at, or if it was looking at him.
Screaming, there was screaming. At least, he thought there was screaming. The sound was loud, tearing through the stale silence, ripping it apart. It was rough, high pitched, and so very terrifying. Yet the boy didn't feel scared, he felt nothing at all. All he could think about, was if that was the sound someone made when they were sad? Or was it the sound they made when they were mad?
What did sad and mad even mean? Sad was Blue, and angry was Red, right? But Blue was also something else. Blue was vast, Blue was endless, Blue was his brother. What was a brother? Was a brother a friend, or a foe? Was it a person, or an object? He felt like a brother was supposed to be something important, something irreplaceable, something he couldn't lose. Important, that was what Blue was.
Orange, Blue, Grey, and green. Those were the things he remembered. It took him a long, long moment to connect these things to himself. If he didn't know what he was, then how the hell was he supposed to know what everything else was? Some part of him, some very, very small part, wanted him to not to find out. He didn't need to know what the before was, what the after would be. Why not leave it blank, fill it in with something else? The void, it was his canvas, wasn't it? He could paint whatever he wanted onto it. He didn't need the before.
The small, miniscule part of him grew. It ate away at the conviction the boy had, corroding his iron will, his determination. Bigger and bigger, the doubt kept growing, and growing, and growing. The doubt wriggled into his mind, a small seed, which was now a jungle of hesitation.
Weapons. He needed weapons to counter his Fear. Weapons were tools used to get your point across, to fight those who stood against you. Bows, kama, swords, spears, muskets, and more. Sharp, deadly, ready to harm. He didn't want to harm anyone, but how else was he supposed to find out who he was?
An internal battle, a war, was waged. Should he remember? Was it okay to? He wanted to know, to remember. What was Blue? What was Orange? What was he? Curiosity drove him to remember, but Fear held him back. It tied him down, filling his head with doubts, with concerns, worries, hesitence.
Terror.
It told him to forget, to continue on with blissful ignorance. He didn't need to know. He didn't have to know. The voice implored him to make a new start. His restraints tightening, growing, sealing away the before, the past, the memories. The boy felt like he should give in, give up, to forfeit his unyielding interest in what might have happened. His strong desire to know… to find out… one simple question.
Who am I?
Who did I know? Who did I love? Who loved me? Did anyone love me? Did I love anyone? What was living like? Had I suffered, triumphed, cried, laughed? Did I have anyone to return to, anyone to share my life with? What were the colours, what did they mean? Where did I come from, what even am I? Did I live for very long? Why was I here?
Who am I.
The chains, the binds, the restraints, the shackles, he fought them. He struggled against the Fear, the doubts, the worries, the sheer terror trying to push him down, make him give up. He wouldn't, he couldn't. He had to know. No matter what it was, he felt like he just had to, or he would regret it.
War. Curiosity versus fear. Foolishness versus hesitence. Knowledge versus ignorance. Persistence versus defeat. Swords clashed, guns fired. Blood spilled, coating the emptiness in a thick, dark red, decorated with corpses. They kept pushing, battling, dying, surviving. All the while the small boy just stood there, numb to the blatant violence. By the sheer amount of gore and death. They fell, they rose, they lived, they died. And when it was all over, the only one left was him. Him and his question.
Who am I?
Something was holding him back, not letting him remember. It wasn't Fear, no, it was something else. Even after all the violence, it was pointless. Fear was the thing stopping him from finding out, but there was something else holding the key, holding the power to let him see, let him know.
The little boy stepped over the bodies, his bare feet getting soaked in blood, splashing over his calves. It wasn't warm, nor cold, it was as empty as everything else in that place. So he kept marching on, the only sound was the squelching of guts beneath him.
He kept going, until the bloodbath which had occurred was nothing but a speck in the distance. It left him time to dwell on what he knew, and his assumptions. Those six words, they meant something. That, he knew. But his guess was as good as any, he had nothing to go off of. Blue could be freedom, and a brother. But it could also be confinement, and chaos. He knew nothing, and it was driving him mad.
For some reason, it hurt so much. To think about all of this. Every time, he felt an awful feeling in his existence. As though some external force was reaching into his soul and tearing it apart. It hurt. So much so that he fell, unable to go forward. And there it was again, that noise. That scream. It wasn't the sound of anger, or anguish. It was… It was…
Pain.
It ripped into his being, making him tremble and curl into himself, begging the feeling to go away. He didn't like it. It hurt. It hurt. Another scream sounded. Louder, more desperate. The little boy couldn't help but try to make it stop. Stop. He couldn't, it kept going, louder and louder, higher and higher. He wanted to scream right along with it, but found that he couldn't. He didn't have a voice.
The Pain. The Pain. It tore through his being in waves, dismantling his grip on his past, which was already dangling by a thread. He wanted to leave. Where? Where could he go when he already knew there was nothing? There was no escape, no running, no hiding. He couldn't escape this feeling, it already had a deathgrip on his soul.
Pain had fierce fangs, drooling saliva all over his prone form. Pain's fur was thick and matted, orange with white patches and black stripes. Pain had large, razor-sharp claws which could tear him apart with minimal effort. A large tail, yellow eyes, and a low, venomous growl. That was Pain, and Pain was agony.
He writhed under the beast's grip, still hearing the shrill screeches echo in the void. Pain didn't seem to care about the sound, it was more invested in the small creature below them. It let out a mighty roar, drowning out the screaming, and all thoughts in the boy's mind.
It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't seeing nothing anymore. Instead of nothing, he saw… Orange. It was bright, so very bright. It hurt to look at, but made him so happy at the same time. The colour wrapped around him, making him feel warm, so very warm. Like the heat from a summer morning, burning your skin, yet it felt too nice to leave.
After Orange, came Blue. Blue was a calm, steady pulse, beating beneath him. The ocean spray that refreshed his tanned skin, the freedom that was just out of their reach. It was cool, and kind. It made his stomach flutter when he felt it. But the colour also hurt. An ache he knew he could never fix.
The next moment, Orange and Blue disappeared. He felt so cold at the loss of them, so alone. The little boy wanted to beg them to stay, to not leave him, to not let him hurt. They couldn't just… disappear. It wasn't fair!
Green wrapped around him like a blanket on a cold, autumn evening. The smell of damp soil filled his nose, along with cooking meat and the smoke from a fire. Birds twittered, gorillas beat their chests, tigers prowled their territory and three little kids laughed with one another. Blades of grass tickled his bare feet, a cool breeze brushed past his scraped up face.
Nostalgia hit him like a ton of bricks, making the raven stumble back, fall to his knees. He let out a sob, and smiled. A big, toothy grin. Home. This was home. Green was home. He was home.
Red. There was so much Red. Everything was Red. Screams traveled through the burning winds, barely a whisper among the rich. Blue and Orange and green were gone. There was nothing but chaos, and the boy could barely breathe. He took in air and smoke and ash, corrupting his lungs and burning his throat. His feet were bloody from running through piles of garbage and his arms were going numb.
Fear. He felt lots of Fear.
Where was green? He missed green. He missed green and Orange and Blue so much. Now all the Red was turning Grey, and he couldn't see any other colours, nothing but Grey. And soon, he started to turn Grey. His fingers cracked and crumbled apart, turning to dust. He tried to scream, but his voice was caught. His voice was useless.
He slowly broke apart, watching as his body became the very ash he saw others turn into that day. The very ash that was caused by other's greed. The very ash that stole everything from him.
And soon, he was gone.
'This is a warning…'
A strangled gasp escaped his mouth, and the little boy looked around, eyes adjusting to his surroundings. Nothing. It was still an empty void. He let out a breath, and held his trembling hands close. They weren't crumbling. He wasn't crumbling.
Why was it so real? The little boy could feel everything, see everything, so why hadn't he noticed? His head began to throb, and he shook away all the confusing questions. They were making his head hurt. Ace always said he wasn't very smart, but he didn't have any room to talk. The boy got to his feet, and wiggled his fingers, just to make sure he was really there. That he wasn't falling apart. But it didn't answer his question, the one still pulling at the back of his head.
Who am I!
Who was he? Was he Grey? No, he was… he was… What was he? He couldn't be Grey, Grey hurt people, Grey destroyed things, Grey stole things. If he was Grey, then he was a monster. But he didn't want to be a monster, because monsters were bad. He didn't want to be bad, no, he wanted to be… to be…
WHO AM I.
That question rolled around in his head with thousands of others. He was lost, aimlessly wandering around a vast emptiness, contemplating his existence. Everything was laid out before him. It was right there. But he just couldn't… He couldn't. He couldn't.
Because it hurt.
Screaming. There was more screaming. It was closer this time, tickling the boy's ears. The sound came with a strange moisture which broke through the mist of painlessness. It ran down his face, dripping onto his chest. This liquid grounded him, pulling him away from the peculiar limbo he was in.
Because it told him that he had a face, that he had a chest, that he had a form. The boy had forgotten that he had a face, and a chest. That place just made it so easy to forget, so easy to disappear. That's what he wanted to do, to disappear. But that unknown feeling was pulling him back, taking him back.
Why didn't he want to go back?
He forgot.
Well, that was until he felt it. The feeling of burning. The feeling of unbearable, scorching heat. The feeling of metal pressed firmly into his back, right between his shoulder blades. The smell of burning rubber filling his nose, making it wrinkle in disgust. The shrieks and cries never ceased, and it gave him a pounding headache. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and made the boy cough, wracking his small, bloody frame.
Oh, that was why.
It was two completely different things to be told your freedom is gone, than to feel it being ripped away from you. To hear the sizzling of your skin, bubbling under the intense heat. To smell the burning flesh, and how it reminded you of meat cooking under the heat of the fire. To see the twisted smiles directed at your agony, at your misfortune. To feel the white, hot metal against your back, setting all your nerves aflame. To feel the water run down your face, scraping against your raw cheeks from how many tears you had already shed. To be consumed by the Grey, owned by the Grey, nothing but Grey.
'A slave is someone who has lost their freedom, and is marked as less than human.'
Was that all he was now? A slave? Was that what was really happening to him? Couldn't it just be a dream? Why couldn't he just wake up and find himself in the hideout, between his two older brothers. Both of them fast asleep, hidden in the leaves, covered by the stars, and filled with the idea of freedom. Because right now, everything hurt, he was always hungry, adults were mean, the chains chafed his skin, his arm was gone, and so were the two most important things in his life.
He was so disoriented, so tired, so done, that when the mark was on, he didn't fight. The boy was just dragged along, his eyes blind to the world around him. All he knew was that it was cold, it was dark, and it reeked of people, people wasting away.
His head hit the floor when he was thrown into a cell, but he didn't feel it, he wasn't paying attention. Because something fell off of his head when he was knocked to the ground. It was a hat. An ordinary, battered orange hat, with little blue smilies on it. Decorated with red beads and had a leather string around it.
The boy slowly got up off the floor, wincing at the pain all over his body. With his remaining hand, he picked up the accessory, and held it close to his chest. He didn't notice the blood which he got on it when he did this, and he didn't care.
Because his name… his name was Luffy.
And someone was coming.
This was how it always was. She should've been used to it by now, but she wasn't. All these years of being a decoration, a doll, a pretty thing to look at, only made her hatred grow. Seeing all of the pampered nobles dancing, drinking the finest of wines. Clad in jewels that could buy whole countries, silks that could feed an entire nation. But these people, these scum, would never help anyone. All they did was laugh about how disgusting commoners were, and chat about who had the biggest fortune. Greed filled their eyes, so much so that it leaked out, dribbling onto the spotless floor, oozing underneath the pristine tiles.
Hancock stood very still, eyes blank, staring into nothing. Her feet ached from standing so still for so long. It was always like this, so she should've been used to it, should've been unaffected. But the longer she was there, the more she wanted to turn them all to stone, and watch them shatter.
She imagined breaking their fingers one by one, relishing in the screams that erupted from their putrid mouths, the crunching of their bones. Using a whip to bite into their blemishless flesh, smiling as she heard the devastating crack. Pouring wax down their throats, searing their skin, making them bleed. She wanted them to bleed.
Just like they made her bleed. Her sisters bleed. Her friends bleed. They all suffered for what? Why, why them? Wasn't childhood supposed to be about making friends, spending time with your family, creating memories of laughter and joy that you remember fondly? She would never, ever want to even think about this again when she got out. If she got out.
She would treasure the feeling of sun on her skin, the scent of fresh air. Breezes lazily brushing her cheeks, cooling her down from the heat of the day. Gazing up at clouds, watching them slowly change shape as they danced across the endless blue. The smooth, pale sand which felt slightly damp from the light rainfall from the morning. The sound of ocean waves lapping against the shore, tickling her toes. Crabs scuttling across the terrain, getting snatched up by gulls.
The vision, it was so blurry now. She was six when she last sat on the beach, looking at the distant shores, pondering meaningless questions she never got to ask. That was the day when she set out to sea with her cre-
A plate shattered.
It snapped her out of her thoughts before the tears could fall.
The looks she got were grotesque. Eyes staring at her every movement, her figure, her beauty. The raven knew that this was why she was still alive, still breathing. Because she was blindingly beautiful, and all of the rich wanted her to be a piece of art at their party. That's why she wasn't as starved as most, why she wasn't as beaten as most, why she got away with so much, and was punished so little.
She was dressed in a frilly, royal purple dress, which ended in the middle of her thighs. Violet snakes were emblazoned onto the scratchy fabric, with beads stitched on where the eyes were supposed to be. In terms of the celestial dragons, the dress was the same as rags, but in standards for the life she had, she could've been royalty, and it made her feel nauseous.
The eyes. The eyes were everywhere. All around her, suffocating her. Boring Into every part of her, making Hancock shiver. Even with how disgusting it was, to have people looking at her that way, it wasn't even the worst part. Her brand, the dark, hideous mark, was exposed for all to see. Her dress was deliberately cut open at the back to show it off, to show that she was theirs. She felt so violated. Did they really need reassurance that they owned her? Or was it just fun to torture people? She wished she didn't know that it was both.
Her eyes came back into focus when someone tugged on her arm, making the girl stumble. When Hancock looked at them, she greeted the rude person with a blank stare. They were a celestial dragon - if the ridiculous bubble around their head was any indicator - and had a long piece of snot dripping from their nose. The boy looked to be about eleven, and Hancock already knew he was a spoiled brat.
The boy tugged her arm again, but this time she didn't move at all, and that made him huff. "Mummy, I want this one! It's pretty!" He whined, looking up at the woman who was supposedly his mother. Hancock wrinkled her nose at his words. It. That's what she was called, that's what everyone was called. They were just objects to others, and if that didn't make her pissed, she didn't know what could.
Being bought, sold, traded. It wasn't right. None of this was right in the raven's eyes, and she couldn't believe how blind these people were. Were they even blind? Or did they just choose not to see? "Sorry sweetie, but it's for display only. The host owns this one. Why don't you go pick out a different one?" Oh, that was right. Hancock was bought by some rich noble who loved to throw parties. She was bought at the last minute, and rushed to the party as its centerpiece. Three hours had passed, she had counted each and every second.
A loud, annoying cry escaped the little boy's mouth, but he let go of the teen's arm, which now had a red imprint from where the child squeezed it. The mother and her son left, their bubbles jiggling as they went. The teen's shoulder's eased up once they were out of sight, lost in the busting crowd. It took all she had to not say anything, to not yell, scream, anything. Because if she did that, if she hit them. If she was rude, loud, or out of line in any way. She was worse than dead.
Usually, they wouldn't hurt her, because of her blinding beauty. But now, she had a black slave mark. That meant she had been rebranded, reowned, resold so many times that the vibrant crimson transformed into a crisp, black colour. The mark was placed on her so many times that it destroyed all of her nerves, fried her skin, and wrecked her body beyond repair. There was an indent where the mark was, and someone could peel off the blackened skin with their fingers. If they cut open that place on her back, she wouldn't feel a thing.
Since she had been traded off so many times, it meant the people who bought her expected her to act out, expected her to fight them, expected her to put up a fight. Sometimes, that meant people wouldn't buy her, and that seemed good, at first. But there was always darkness to even the smallest spark of light. All of the cruel, sadistic, malicious people would now love to buy her, to break her, to destroy that last bit of defiance in her eyes.
Now, she was a challenge.
Now, if she stepped even a toe out of line, she was finished. So, Hancock would hold her tongue, do as she was told, and be a perfect little doll. She wasn't doing this for herself, no, she needed to conserve her sanity for her sisters, and those two...
Eyes pierced every part of her body, breaking her resilience and creating a mountain of paranoia and anxiety. They were waiting for her to retaliate, to revolte. Every single being in that ballroom knew she had a black brand, and they wanted to see her snap.
A hand was placed onto her shoulder, and a man in a glorious red gown and elegant makeup grinned down at the slave. "Come now, we have places to be." And just like that, the beautiful girl was whisked away to be yet another decoration for a different party.
Oh, how she wished she knew what home looked like.
This was really happening.
Koala tossed those words around in her head, repeating them like a prayer, a mantera. She was dragged away, loaded into what looked like a prison with wheels, and taken to a castle. The drive was filled with groans of pain, begging to be set free, and eerie silence. Luffy was on the vehicle as well, right across from the brunette. But he wasn't really… there.
His eyes were glassy, hollow shells. His limbs were limp, and jostled along with the rhythm of the roads. The boy was nothing like before. Even in such an awful, horrific situation, he never stopped smiling, laughing, being happy. His arm was cut off, and all he said was that they shouldn't worry, because he had another one. That his promise was more important. Now, however, he wasn't even the same person. It was like he was asleep, but he clearly wasn't, and it was one of the most terrifying things she had ever witnessed.
Throughout the whole trip, Luffy only did three things: crying, mumbling, and shrieking. At first, Koala thought she was imagining the tears trailing down his face, but they were very real. It was unnerving, to see someone with a face so void of anything human, to produce tears.
They slid down his face and dribbled onto his hand, and the seat. No one really cared that he was crying, no one was even looking his way. Probably because he looked like a living corpse. His skin was a sickly grey, like most people there. His stump was aflame, the skin puffing out and starting to reek. But the smell wasn't very noticeable, since everyone here smelt like they were rotting away.
She tried not to cry. She couldn't cry, not now. Koala remembered all the nights when she cried herself to sleep on that dreadful ship, and Luffy and Hancock were always there for her. They were both so strong. How could they just believe that everything would be fine? How could they still have hope?
A particularly rough bump on the road made the brunette bang her head on the back of her seat. She bit her lip, feeling the tears that were trying to claw their way out of her eyes. Koala's nails bit into the skin on her arms, forming little crescent moons.
"Wan… Want to… to know."
Koala raised her head, looking at the small raven before her. "I want to know." He whispered yet again. The boy's eyes were so… grey. She could've sworn he had brown eyes.
"I want to know." A third time, a lot louder this time. Luffy's voice still wavered, cracked, but it was defiant. A few guards turned to look at him, cruel smiles on their faces. "I want to know!" He was yelling, crying, trembling. Koala didn't know what was happening, she just kept her head down, trying to calm her racing heart.
The guards footsteps ever approaching, the rumbling of the vehicle, the desperate wails erupting from the rubber boy, muddled from the blood clogging his airways. It was too much. All of this was way too much. The eleven year-old clamped her hands over her ears and screwed her eyes shut. The chains cuffed around her wrists rattled with the movements, but she couldn't care less.
Her heart was racing, pounding against her cracked ribs. Blood was thrumming underneath her skin, which was so pale you could see her veins. Her hair was matted, and falling out in clumps, leaving behind shiny, unharmed skin. Koala pulled her knees to her chest, oblivious to the clanking, the bus, the guards, everything.
How do you breathe? Was it in then out, or the other way round? Two ins and an out? Three outs and an in? Maybe you didn't need to breathe, since the brunette certainly hadn't been doing it for at least an hour. Had it been an hour? Her chest hurt, a lot. Was your chest supposed to feel like someone was trying to wrench it open with pliers?
Her heart rate climbed higher and higher, in tune with the shrill words "I WANT TO KNOW!" Coming from Luffy. Tinnitus rang in her ears, loud and never wavering. Her hands were shaking, terrible muffles for her ears, barley clogging any of the sounds Koala really didn't want to hear.
The guards were laughing now, something - someone - was bleeding. She knew because blood splattered across the bridge of her nose, over her left eye. It was warm, sticky. It slid down her cheeks and dripped onto her bruised neck, where a guard had strangled her a few days ago. The hand print was deep, stark against her sickly skin, not that anyone cared. The blood hardened, growing cool, crisp.
Breathe. She had to breathe. When she was eight she learned that when you breathe, you let oxygen travel through your blood, and it circulates throughout your whole body. It keeps you functioning, and without breathing, there is no oxygen, which would mean that you suffocate. Oxygen is good, oxygen lets you live. So she had to breathe.
A strangled gasp, a wheeze, a whisper. It turned into small hiccoughs that allowed small puffs of air in and out of her lungs. The little girl tried to let in more oxygen, to try and calm down. She had to stay calm, she had to breathe, she had to stop shaking. But it was hard. The guards were still laughing, and she knew that if she opened her eyes, she'd see their malicious grins. Their eyes, their disgusting, rotten eyes. Filled with nothing but glee, at the thought, the action, of hurting someone else.
Koala was ripped out of her cocoon before she even knew that the vehicle had come to a halt. Someone snatched her bleeding, bruised, broken arm, and started dragging her, and many, many others outside. The child wanted to protest, but she still could barely breathe. All she could do was try to calm down, stop her trembling, and keep walking. One foot, then the other, not tripping over the rusted shackles.
Bright. That was the only way to describe it. It was so blindingly bright that Koala had to close her eyes again, not even noticing that they were open. Walking. She had to keep walking, marching. If she didn't, if she stopped, there would be punishment. The brunette already had so many scars. Too many. She didn't want any more.
It was a quick walk, a short one. The eleven year-old barely even noticed that she was moving. Her mind kept going back to Luffy, and his eyes. What the hell happened? Would he be okay?
The smell hit her before anything else. Death. It was the smell of death. It was thick, damp, and inescapable. Paired with the clammy air, the wet rocks and plants squelching underneath her feet, it was a lot like the ship. Funny, that the first thought she had was 'smells like home.'
Down, down, down they went. Koala finally had the courage to open her eyes, and look around. What she saw didn't surprise her, but she felt mortified all the same. Cages, slaves, living corpses. The whole place was a dungeon, a storage space, for new and old slaves. Koala's feet slapped against the cool, moist stones beneath her feet as she descended flight after flight of stairs.
From being locked up in a small cage for months, to now using her legs so much, the eleven year-old's whole body felt like jelly. She was wobbling and disoriented by the time she reached the bottom. It was dark, even darker than before. So dark that she wouldn't be able to see her hands even if she held them right in front of her face.
"Third corridor to the left." A gruff voice spoke. Koala couldn't tell where the voice came from, but she was being dragged off into another direction right away. The sounds she could hear weren't pleasant. Only the loud rattle of her binds, and loud, painful moans from somewhere in the dark. What made her more frightened, was that the groans were coming from the voices of children, children even younger than her, younger than Luffy.
They came to a halt, then she heard the sounds of a door opening. The hinges screeched in protest, fighting against the force of whoever was pushing it open. Koala was shoved inside, with what sounded like a few others, and the door closed again.
Light. There was a small glow emanating from the other side of the room. The brunette felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. She didn't have to ask to go over there, since someone grabbed her arm, bruising her broken skin, and yanked her towards the small light.
It turned out to be a fire. A small one, glowing with a sort of defiance Koala admired. It battled off the darkness with its many limbs, spreading out embers to spread the warmth, the love. Koala didn't realize she was cold until she started to shiver, and craved the warmth. She wanted to raise her hands above the fire, catching the heat with her arms, holding it close.
A firm, harsh hand pushed the slave down to her knees, making the girl let out a small squeak. Koala was bending over, her hair nearly touching the bright flames. She could feel the warmth, the safety radiating from the fire, and yet she couldn't shake the foreboding which ensnared her heart. It squeezed her chest, making her squirm.
She felt like she wasn't getting enough air, no matter how much she took in. It only got stronger when someone took a burning, metal rod from the dancing heat. Growing, and growing, when they stood behind her, and lifted the rod up. Then, for a single moment, everything was silent. That was when she felt the heat she craved so much sear into her back, burning her flesh.
Koala screamed.
She screamed a scream so loud and shrill it echoed in the cramped, dark room. It was the sound a person made when they were so scared, so broken, so lost, that they needed someone, anyone to help them. It was the sound a person made which cracked their windpipe, stretched their vocal cords, made them bleed for days afterward. It was the sound of an eleven year-old brunette, who just wanted to go home.
The smell of her soiled clothes, her back, her skin, her bones, burning made Koala's head spin. The feeling of metal placed on her back, frying her nerves, setting her on fire, made her scream. She had never felt anything like it before, it hurt. It hurt. It hurt. She wanted it to stop, needed it to stop. The little girl just wanted it all to be over. To never have to feel this again, feel anything ever again.
As soon as it started, it was over. It had felt like an eternity and only a fleeting moment all at once. Koala didn't have the will to do anything, let alone move, so she was dragged out by her hair. Another scream, just like hers, sounded when she left. She didn't hear it. Her eyes were glossed over, so lifeless, so grey.
She was numb, so numb. All she wanted was to go home. Home. Where was that again? Koala was tossed into a cell, identical to the hundreds of thousands of others in that place. The brunette didn't move from the spot she was in. She didn't do anything for what felt like an eternity. That changed when someone else was thrown into her cage. Koala didn't bother to look, she didn't care, she couldn't stop thinking of the blisters, the mark, on her back.
At least, until a small, timid voice spoke. So small, barely above a whisper. She wouldn't have heard it if she wasn't so close to the other person. Koala recognized the voice, she wouldn't ever forget it. The girl looked up at her new roommate, and let a ghost of a smile trace her lips when she heard his words.
"Someone is coming."
