Silence. It consumed the dark and cold closet. From outside, a light peered out from under the door, and the sound of people's voices over a television could be heard faintly if he strained to listen. But he was too tired to try. The hard floor was frigid, and the cold seeped through his cloths and touched his skin, causing him to shiver. The air was stuffy and smelled of old shoes, and he huddled back against his new established hiding place- between the back of a cardboard box and the far back corner of the small closet itself. He held his right arm against his stomach, hoping the pressure would ease the swelling. He cringed as his stomach growled, but tried to ignore it as he was not going to eat anything the man had to offer.
He'd been offered food, or, more rather, nearly been covered by it when the man flung a circular piece of red, highly spiced meat onto the floor. He didn't recognize the food, and had decided to not eat, since it would only keep him alive. Not that he wanted to die, more than anything he wanted to escape to the safety of the museum. But he'd decided earlier that day that he'd rather die than be left in the hands of these giants who treated him like the lowest being in the world.
He had been ill treated in his one day and soon to be two night stay. Most of it was his fault; trying to escape or constantly banging on the door and shouting to be let out and taken back. But he was always punished; a kick against the door that would send him stumbling backwards, a rough shove with a pointer finger knocking him down, and while the man had been on the phone, he'd been trying to escape again, and had been picked up and roughy thrown, leading to his injured arm.
He moved it slightly, and grimaced, clenching his teeth to hold back a pained shout. It had to be broken. He huddled up further between the box and wall, trying to keep what little warmth he had left trapped to him. As he sat there, thinking, he let his mind wander back to the museum. He'd tried to resist thinking about the friends he would never see again, for at the time he'd refused to except that he would be forever in his captivity with the giants. But now that he'd been so cruelty treated, and the fact that he'd heard the man discussing Western things which he owned, he knew his time would soon be up.
He wondered what Larry and the others were doing while he wasted away in his prison. Maybe they were searching for him. But his men would have surely told the night guard of his abduction. And Octavius? As much as Jedediah didn't want to think about it, his mind wandered across the void to his friend, probably miles away. He was probably sick with worry; and if it had been concluded there was no finding the cowboy, he was probably grieving the loss. It wasn't a comforting thought to think that his friends were going through as much mental hardship as he was. He hoped that soon they would give up, and try not to dwell on his loss. It would be best if they forgot, though there was no chance of that. Especially for Octavius.
"I know you're worried 'bout me," Jedediah said aloud, as though he was talking to his friend. "But try 'ta not. I'm already gone, and it's no use hopin'." He paused for a moment, longing for a reply but knowing there would be none, as Octavius was miles away. "Keep my memory, though."
In the dark silence of the closet, he found himself close to tears. He didn't want to die. He wanted to be back home, in his warm sleeping bag in his tent in his own display, back to Larry and his sometimes lame rules, back to the president and his soon to be sweet, gentle bride, back to the pharaoh and his kind nature, back to his midnight car rides, and back at his best friend's side, facing off against whatever consequences they faced due to the cowboy's reckless nature. He missed it all.
Unconsciously, he rose to his feet, and walked towards the door, his mind lost in its thoughts as he kept to his forward bath. Suddenly, he felt a burning sensation against his skin, and leapt back with surprise. He fearfully looked around, trying to find the source of the burning. But the only thing he could see was the light from under the door, unless...
Cautiously, he extended his left hand, since his right one was unable to leave its still position which kept the pain in his arm at bay. As soon as his bare hand met the light, it began to burn fiercely, and he quickly brought it back with a sharp cry, stumbling backwards in shock. It was the light. It hurt. Why did the light hurt?
But he didn't have time to think about it because the door was swung open, and the shadow of the man fell over him. Hurriedly, Jedediah scrambled to hide, since he knew he couldn't stand up against the man, but wasn't fast enough and was quickly caught up in his grip, restraining himself from struggling as he knew the man had no problem in exacting pain on him.
The faint light in the room just outside was irritating, but Jedediah was able to fight it as he kept his eyes downcast, careful not to provoke the man. He was roughly put on the table, and sat, his legs out in front of him, curled up over his arm with his head down. The man stood above him, watching him with a cold, merciless interest.
"So tell me, little creature, why are you alive?" The man asked, his arms crossed and waiting for an answer.
Jedediah didn't answer. He was trying to fight the rising pain the light produced.
"Well?" The man said expectantly, tapping his foot. "Are you going to speak? Or am I going to have to force it out of you."
Still, the cowboy didn't reply, his teeth clenching as he held back a pained cry. The light hurt. Bad.
"What's the matter with you?" The man asked, sounding annoyed. He flipped on a switch and the large overhead light switched on.
Jedediah couldn't take it. The second the large burst of light hit him, he screamed, falling from his hunched sitting position to flat on the table, writhing in agony. The man, confused, took him in his hands, a slightly worried look to his face, though his worry was not for the small life he held now in his hands. Something was wrong with his profit.
"What the heck is wrong with you!?" He yelled, shaking the tiny cowboy, which did nothing but make the pain worse.
In a nervous hurry, the man turned away with the cowboy, absorbing him in shadow. Jedediah fell limp in the man's hands, struggling to breath and shaking as the burning slowly ebbed away. The man, unsure of what was going on, experimentally turned back to the light, exposing the little cowboy once again to it.
Jedediah screamed again, kicking and crying out, trying to break fee from the man's grasp, desperate to reach the shadows that wouldn't hurt him. The man then turned so his shadow covered the cowboy, and a slightly devious smile exposed his ugly, yellow stained teeth.
"Now," He said, acting as if he'd known about the light. "Why are you alive?"
Still, Jedediah didn't answer. He didn't want to, and couldn't even if he did, the pain too intense to do anything but lie still. Suddenly, the man cast him into the light, and once again the cowboy screamed, struggling harder to break free. The man then cast him into the shadows again.
"So tell me, why are you alive?" He asked in a mock gentle voice.
"I-I...I ain't tellin'..." Jedediah gasped, a few tears slipping from his eyes. The pain was almost blinding, and fear clenched his heart.
A second later, the little cowboy was screaming in agony as the man not only exposed him to the light, but held up towards the radiant bulb, increasing the burning sensation that pulsed through the little miniature's body. He screwed his eyes shut and screamed louder, unable to bear the immense burning.
"Why!" The man demanded, still holding the cowboy up.
Jedediah didn't want to. He didn't want to say it. But as each second ticked by the pain increased, and he finally cried out, "The Tablet! The Tablet is what makes us alive!"
The man, perhaps for the sheer pleasure of seeing the little cowboy suffer, or because of the fact that he'd been told of something far more amazing than his newest treasure, held him to the light a moment longer, until the cowboy was on the edge of unconsciousness.
Finally, he opened the door to the closet, and tossed him in, uncaring about what he hit. He slammed the door, and left the cowboy to suffer in silence.
Silent tears streamed from Jedediah's eyes, as he was no longer able to hold it in. His skin still burned, and he was too exhausted to move. His arm throbbed, and his head rang, probably from hitting the back wall. But worst of all, he'd given away the Tablet's secret, putting all his friends in danger. As he lay there, the darkness closing in on him, his last thought was one of regret.