This chapter is shorter so we can have a bit of quicker pacing.
Life in the Cage
Time was nothing in this place.
It was meaningless.
Just like her existence.
Since her first day here, however long ago that was, it had been hot and dry to an unbearable degree.
Her limbs, scrawny and frail, ached with stiffness. Her skin, once soft and tender, was now scabrous and desiccated.
She suffered dreadfully, and she suffered alone.
She was kept alive only so that the prison guards could watch her waste away.
She would be kept in here until the day she died. Only then would they finally unlock her cage and drag her body outside to dispose of.
Just like they did to all the others.
One by one, the remaining waterbenders of the Southern Water Tribe perished slowly, and painfully.
The last one died several months ago. Maybe it was a year…?
She couldn't remember.
She could barely think.
But the sights from those occasions would haunt her forever.
The one who was once the strongest of them — the old man in the cage opposite hers — he had been the first to go. He had passed away in his sleep a few short days after her arrival.
Another elder, a woman several cages down the line, was the next to expire. One day, her body, so bony and frail from enduring years of squalid living conditions, just slumped against the bars on one corner of her cage. She never moved from that spot again.
The last time the young child had seen that particular prisoner was when the guards had dragged the body right past her cage. She had shuddered uncontrollably as the tears spilled down her face, knowing that corpse would be her one day.
But those deaths were only just the beginning of the end.
The child broke off from the painful memory.
She shifted her position, her limbs aching with the effort. She was too tired to do any more than that. She slouched over, almost losing her balance. Her muscles were so weak. She barely caught herself before she fell. Throwing her hands out to brace herself, she barely managed to stop her involuntary collapse. Fighting against the dehydration and fatigue, she forced herself to sit back up.
Her cage didn't allow her much room to move about. She couldn't even stand up inside it. Not that it mattered much anyway.
In this place, any unnecessary movement was a waste of energy. She couldn't afford to expend what little vitality she had. Not if she wanted to continue clinging to life.
Though she didn't have much of a life here.
She coughed as her chest spasmed painfully. Her vision blurred as she struggled to breathe. She tried to swallow, but her mouth and her throat were as dry as dust.
The guards always made sure that hot, dry air was continuously pumped into the prison. It was one of many precautions implemented to prevent prisoners from waterbending.
But consequentially, even just breathing was torturous for her.
She groaned.
The stifling heat only added to her misery. She could feel the moisture being sapped from her eyes. Her blood thundered through her head. Her heart struggled to beat. Her lips were chapped and painful. The dry air made her throat hurt. She licked her lips, trying to wet them. It was no use.
She trembled convulsively, shuddering with stress, her body still struggling to acclimatize to the intense heat, even after all this time. Then again, maybe it would be impossible to adapt. Maybe her body would never get used to the extreme conditions of this place.
She stared down at her toes, down at the floor, trying to distract herself from the bleak despair of the prison, to no avail. She thought about the colour blue, and how it made everything that much more beautiful. The sky was blue, and it was beautiful. The sea was blue, and it was magnificent. Her friends and family back home wore blue, blue, blue…
And here she was, wearing ragged grey prison clothes, locked up all alone in a cage, waiting for her time to die.
She was the picture of pathetic.
She closed her eyes, and sighed sadly.
What was the point of living anymore?
Her spirit had shattered long ago. What was left of her was fading away.
They kept her alive — but just barely.
Every meal was the same routine of cruelty. One meagre slice of bread. Every single time.
They gave her water from a small cup that was attached to a long pole — but only after her hands were tautly chained behind her back.
No more than three cups were given to her — just enough to keep her alive from one agonizing day to the next.
And on full moon nights, the guards wouldn't give her anything to drink at all.
She remembers one of the old waterbenders comforting her, consoling her, and teaching her the culture of their bending. The old woman had taught her about her heritage, and had given her more insight on who she was.
And the young girl had cherished that wisdom and knowledge, for they had given her a reason to survive. Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, she had found strength in the heart of her existence.
She was a waterbender. A child of the sea, with the ice and snow as her domain. Chosen by the spirits to have command over her element, and blessed by the Moon with a special gift.
Of how, on a full moon's night, a waterbender would find their power amplified, and their strength enhanced.
The Moon was their most loyal friend. Their greatest ally. Their light in the dark.
Tui, the Moon Spirit, watched over his descendants, his children. He would never abandon them.
Even on their darkest nights, they would never be truly alone.
As long as the Moon rose each night, there was still hope.
The Fire Nation could cage them, chain them, torture them, humiliate them — but they could never take away the Moon.
One day, they would be free.
One day, she would be free…
Those were the failed promises that haunted the girl in her dreams.
Those were the hopeless lies that taunted her in her darkest thoughts, when she would let her mind drift in a futile attempt to ease the pain.
Freedom was but a memory. A memory lost to happier times, from an eternity ago.
She was nothing but a caged animal now. A lowly creature who would be punished by her owners whenever they felt like she deserved it.
Her life was nothing more than a pathetic and torturous existence.
Miserably slumping against the bars of her cage, she coughed again.
There was a loud clang as a sword suddenly slammed against the bars.
She cried out in fear, flinching away as a soldier loomed into view.
"Shut up, you little scut!" he shouted, his voice a roar of thunder. He glared at her, his eyes filled with cruelty and malice.
She could barely see his silhouette in the shadowy darkness, but the blood-red glint that his armour gave off in the moonlight was enough for terror to blossom in her heart.
His jagged helmet covered his face like an outer skull, giving him the appearance of a monstrous and unworldly creature, and accentuating the malevolent gaze of his eyes.
She shrank away, retreating further into the darkness in a futile attempt to hide.
It was no use.
There was nowhere to go. No escape from the nightmare.
She shut her eyes, cringing in fear. Her breath quickened, and her heart began to race. A terrified whimper escaped from her throat.
The soldier snarled with sadistic pleasure and twisted satisfaction.
She risked peeking up, and saw amber eyes burning with feral joy. She shuddered.
More than anything, it was those piercing, golden eyes of evil that frightened her the most.
All the monsters in her nightmares shared those eyes. So did the monsters who kept her imprisoned here.
She didn't dare look at those eyes.
It really wasn't enough that she was young, helpless, and cooped up in a small and cramped cage.
They wanted to see her die. Slowly, and painfully.
The mere notion of that was terrifying enough.
With bleary eyes, she stared submissively at the floor of her cage. She trembled harder, her terror threatening to overwhelm her. It was all she could do not to cry in fear.
This was torture.
He wanted the impossible.
She was rotting away in here. Years of malnourishment had damaged her. Her body couldn't deal with the constant dehydration that it was subjected to.
Her torment was neverending.
Her head throbbed with agony. Her chest felt tight, constantly aching from the hot, dry air that was pumped into the prison. Her throat felt painful and raw. Her mouth felt sticky and dry.
But the guard had spoken, and she had to follow.
Her sore lips drew into a tight line as she tried to bite back another cough.
The guard watched her intently, yellow eyes glinting predatorily in the darkness. Waiting for her to break.
She couldn't keep this up forever.
Her chest felt like it was cramping up. Panicking, she opened her mouth and gulped down as much air as she could. The act of doing so aggravated the insides of her throat.
And she coughed.
The only warning she was given was the telltale sign of quiet hissing as the guard's hand quickly charged up with combustion.
Then the flames leapt at her.
She screamed.
Frantically scrambling away, she threw herself against the bars on the far side of her cage.
Desperate to protect herself, she flung up her right arm to shield her face, and she shut her eyes tight.
The cage lurched violently when she moved. It crashed into the empty one hanging next to it, knocking her flat on her face. She screamed again.
There was no sympathy to be found with the soldier, however.
"Stupid little bitch," he sneered smugly. He walked away, satisfied with his handiwork.
Sprawled on the floor of her cage, it took several minutes for the child to gain enough courage to open her eyes.
She gasped painfully for breath, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She struggled to regain control of herself, still desperate and frantic and beside herself with fear.
The tears leaked out freely as she assessed the damage.
Her head throbbed more painfully than ever. She was certain that a bruise would form on her face by the next day. Her throat felt even raspier than before from screaming. The skin on her lips, so dry and fragile, had finally cracked. As she licked her lips, she could taste the metallic flavour of blood as the red, viscous fluid trickled into her dry and sticky mouth. To add insult to injury, the ends of her brown hair had been charred to an ugly black by the fire.
She whimpered, her voice tiny and hoarse.
The sting of burn wounds became apparent and she looked down at her right arm. The skin around her elbow was scorched. Shiny and red, and beginning to blister.
She could feel another burn on her right cheek, just below the eye.
More scars to add to her collection.
It hurt. The hot, dry air augmented the pain, making her wounds sting more than they normally would.
But she swallowed down a sob and tried to resist another onset of tears. Her body couldn't afford to lose what little water it had left.
Despite the excruciating agony that engulfed her, these wounds were merely trivial.
This wasn't the worst they could do to her.
It wasn't the worst that they've done to her.
After her mentor died, she had sank into a depression.
The old lady's faith had not saved her. The guards had only taken pleasure out of her pointless struggle to live. They had rejoiced when she had breathed her last — a final, sputtering, wheezing cough.
Then they taunted the child as they dragged away the body of the woman who had been like another grandmother to her.
After a period of mourning, her sadness turned into anger, and one day she made the costly mistake of lashing out at her captors.
They had more than repaid the favour.
She looked down at her body, trying to count the rest of her burn scars.
The most prominent ones were located on her hands and feet. Those were the first burns that she had received long ago — the scars that she had the most vivid memories of attaining.
It had been a harrowing experience. One that had crushed the last of her defiance, destroyed the last vestiges of her hope, and made her realize the difference between bravery and stupidity.
It was an experience that she had tried to forget about.
But every time she looked at the burn scars on her skin, the memories of torture would come flooding back.
Even when she closed her eyes, she could still see the flames rushing towards her. She could still feel the fire burning her flesh. She could still feel the blisters throbbing on her skin.
She'd remember, no matter how much she tried to forget.
Sometimes, she could still hear herself screaming. The agony felt like it would never end, and all she could do was cry. Cry in pain until she blacked out.
But even crying was ultimately futile, because the pain would never truly stop. Not even in her dreams.
She rolled over onto her left side, so at the very least she wouldn't be lying down on her wounds. Every part of her body still ached, and the stinging of the burns had worsened.
Through the bars of the grate high above her cage, she saw the moon in the night sky, surrounded by a sea of stars.
She sighed sadly.
There was no water for her to bend, and even if there was, she lacked the skill and the strength to do so.
No point in thinking about a plan.
She couldn't fight.
And no one was coming to save her. No friends. No family. No Avatar. No one.
That was a harsh truth that she had come to accept long ago.
She was never going to get out.
She would die in here.
Sighing plaintively again, she closed her eyes and tried to find sleep.
It was difficult, though. Her lower limbs ached most of the time, making the attempt challenging, and every breath she took made her throat and chest hurt.
For all she knew, she could very well die in her sleep.
She still yearned for it, though. She needed escape and this was the only route she had.
Whatever awaited her in her dreams, it had to be better than the dark, hopeless reality that she was trapped in. It just had to be.
Her fate was sealed, but the inevitable could still be delayed.
The rumbling rhythm of the air pumps at work seemed soothing, for once. In the quiet lull before she succumbed to the night, the irony of this was lost on her.
Finally, she drifted off into an uneasy and restless sleep.
This was originally going to be Chapter 3, but I changed the order to freshen the pacing a little.
PUBLISHED ON = 25 / 01 / 2019
REWRITTEN ON = 26 / 04 / 2023