AN: To make up for the crazy length of the last one this one will be my first attempt at a drabble. Let's see if it's humanly possible for me to write something under 500 words. This one is a sort of AU glimpse into 'The Boiling Rock' episodes.
"Thanks" again to Deffie for the prompt. (You know I still feel affection to you and your writing, anyway :P)
Warning: More violence and gore. I had a crap week and I'm venting here. Sorry, sensitive readers.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Or the 'Boiling Rock' would have been… well…
2. Walls
The first time he'd heard of the ritual (there wasn't really a better word to describe it) he'd scoffed in scorn and arrogance. It hadn't concerned him, though: what the barbarians in prison wanted to do with themselves was none of his concern. He was on a mission to find the Avatar. So what if those sentenced to flogging as punishment wrote the total of their beatings on the walls in their own blood?
Two years later the stories were a much bigger part of his imminent reality. It was hard to dismiss the knowledge of walls coated in bloody tallies when you were staring at them with your own eyes. That was what they were to him when he was first shoved into the concealed room just to the right of the freezers: a confirmed myth. They changed to a kind of morbid objects of curiosity to him next, while The Warden snarled and grunted behind him, demanding information Zuko would rather die than give.
The walls changed to his anchor as the whip bit into his flesh. Komodo Rhino leather woven with glass and- sometimes, if you were really lucky- barbs from a thorn tree that stayed, festering, in your flesh for weeks. Staring at the smudged, faded crimson numbers was the only thing that kept him sane. It was the only thing that kept his screams locked inside his body, the only thing that kept him from bowing to the ground and writhing in the agony. Somehow, the fact that many more people had endured his torment was the thing that kept him conscious as his skin split open and his feet got bathed in his blood.
Sokka believed he was only going to the coolers. He would have lived in a cooler for the rest of his life to avoid the other room. But Sokka could not know. This was his battle. Always hit battle. Besides, if the Water Tribe warrior attempted to do something stupid like save him…
When he was thrown back in his cell he allowed himself to curse and scream into the threadbare blanket he was allowed. Every movement was agony. The wrong movements caused old cuts to tear open again. He'd lost count of the times he'd thrown up or gagged in the corner of his cell.
By the time Sokka had a plan he was almost ready to break. Almost, but not quite. The distraction his friend had planned mercifully started around the thirteenth lash of the day. While the Warden rushed out to curb the riot, Zuko allowed himself to sink to the floor. Then, slowly, gritting his teeth against the ripping pain of every move, he pulled himself to the corner of the room.
He added his tally to the walls.
AN 2: HA! Under 500 =D And more crap than ever before :/ Oh well. At least it's something… right? Yeah. I didn't think so, either. This one was actually written spontaneously as chapter one uploaded onto . Dunno WHERE it popped from. *shrugs*