Tomorrow

I hate you.
What was it you used to tell me? That everything would be alright in the end. That nobody would care once we got where we were going. And maybe I would have believed you.
If only we'd gotten there.
We could have been happy. Maybe, in another life, another universe, we are. There could be infinite universes out there, each with different choices, different paths all stemming from the same beginning. 
Infinite. 
A large word for a dragon stuck in a cell.
___
"131314"
..."Here."
"131315"
..."Here."
"131316"
"131316!"
...."Looks dead to me."
..."Yep. Started rambling some last night, she did." 
......"Dead as a doorknob." 
...."Smells dead to me."
"Quiet!"
"Shall I remove it?"
"Yes. And put in to head that we have an extra cell"
"Right away Sir."
"131317"
..."Here."
"131318"
..."Here."
___
Do you remember the rain? You know, of course, which day I speak of. We never needed to tell each other things. A glance, a dip of the head, a twist of a talon and we could speak. Things were simpler then. Before we stopped trusting.
The bars are too cold and the cell is too hot. I would press myself to them to cool down, but somehow I must stay away.
As far away as possible. 
Like I should have stayed away from you.
Back to the rain. I was like all the dragons on the street that day. Hurrying to and fro. Complaining inwardly about having to get wet.
You offered me an umbrella. Of course I accepted. I was young and foolish and I thought that I would melt like sugar in the rain.
I can't remember it anymore. 
___
131317 stumbles in the hall, assailed by memories. Her arms are hauled forwards by two burly SandWings, her old frame shaking with hacking coughs. 
She struggles to control the noise, isn't quite fast enough. A slap sets her head ringing for the rest of the walk.
Half an hour of social time in the common room, come and gone. 
There was more whispering this time, she recalls. No newcomers, more chatter. The guards were testy and on edge, even more than usual.
She saw several noisemakers get hauled away for punishment, their screams ringing out after them.
___
It's not as scary as you might think, to forget what rain smells like. The colour of the Sky in the mornings, the glow of an afternoon sun. 
It just hurts. 
Oh Moons does it hurt. Inside and outside, until you shut it away. Tell yourself that it doesn't exist, just so you can't miss it. Somedays it works. I can trick myself into thinking that I was hatched here, just as surely as I will die here. 
And then I wake up with tears flowing down my cheeks.
Never screaming.
You have to be quiet in here. Quiet, so they don't notice you. Quiet, so that you don't get hurt.
Shhhhhh.
'''''
As if they could hurt me more anyways.
___
131317 curls up into a ball in the far corner of her cell. The floor is filthy, the walls caked with years of grime. 
She is used to it. 
Shivering with fever, she reflects back on the scene in the common room, if only to keep her sanity from spiraling.
Her only "friend" 131352, rushed over to her. Whispered in her ear the forbidden words.
"I think they might be letting us outside." 
___
The only thing that I don't miss is my name. I don't remember when I forgot it. I guess I just couldn't have a name and a number at the same time. It's alright. If anything, it made life a bit easier. 
I am 131317
That is who I am. Makes things a whole lot simpler. 
The thing about having an identity is that you have to defend it. Have to hold it and protect it and stand up for it.
I guess they managed to knock me down.
___
Excitement rushes through her old frame with the thought of the word. Outside. She knows 131352 was telling the truth. She's known her for sixty-two years and never once has she told a lie.
Somewhere far off in the distance a dragon is screaming in agony. 131317 ignores it. You can grow used to anything, given enough time. 
There is never silence here, which is good really. 
If she couldn't hear the others she might think she was the only dragon left in the world, and her thoughts would quickly drive her mad.
Some days she wonders if she already is.
___
It's so hot in here, but I can't stop shaking. 
I'm dying. 
If I've learned anything in my seventy years here it's how to tell when someone is dying.
You can learn a lot, seventy years imprisoned.
But all the wrong things.
___
Dust motes swirl through the air, glowing against the light of the single torch outside the bars. 
131317 watches, entranced. 
"We've been discovered." 131352 murmured to her on the stone cold floor, "Do you know that this prison shouldn't be here?" 
"Somebody is coming to see it soon, and when they see us, they'll have to let us out."
131317 didn't say anything to this. At the time, she allowed some of the excitement from 131352 to seep into her.
Now, alone in her cell, she wonders if she'll ever see the sunlight again.
No. No, she decides. The guards will kill them all before they can be set free.
___ 
I used to paint, remember? 
Your favourite painting was the one I did of you. You thought it was the longest I'd ever worked on anything. Thought it was perfection. You loved to stare at it, compliment it. At first, I thought you were admiring my skill. 
Intelligence was never my strong suit, was it?
In case you're wondering, my favourite painting was the pine trees. The soaring boughs, needles whispering in the wind. A dark background, The light glow of my dragonethood home behind the trees.
Oh wait. I never painted that. I was too busy splattering paint on canvas in an attempt to let out my "teenage feelings" or replicating bowls of fruit. I went too fast, never bothered to slow down and look. 
Never painted the things that needed telling.
___
There is another scream to 131317's far right. Closer than the last one. 
She doesn't even hear it this time. 
She is asleep, useless wings pressed to wall behind her. Even if she is set free today, she will never fly again.
Her sleep is a deep one, the sleep of the dead. The same sleep that several others have sunken into over the years she's been here. 
She tells herself she is just resting. 
Waiting for the stars.
___
I was afraid of a lot, back then. You should know that fear is a powerful weapon against the soul. 
Not that you care, being dead.
Sometimes I envy you that luxury. The soul flying free. But then I remember that you never had a soul. You just wadded up some dead leaves and shoved them in your chest. 
Sometimes I wonder how I managed to fall for that, when they were so clearly dripping slime and mold wherever you went.
___
Come morning, the pile of skin and bones in the corner stirs. Moans a little.
131317 is still hanging on. 
Someone is dragging a large metal rod across the iron bars. Clang-clang-cl-clang. 
The sound makes her eyes burn, matches the pounding in her head.
"131316"
..."Here"
"131317"
......."here"
"131318"
..."Here"
___
I miss the stars. 
When I was young and out with friends we rarely spoke of serious things. But one day the topic turned to death and I told them all I wanted was to die peacefully. 
None of us cared that everyone else in the group said the exact same thing. It takes courage to speak openly, and we were skittish and shallow. I was no exception.
If I was braver I might have told them that all I want is to die under the stars.
Ha. Stars.
There are no stars here.
___
131352 is standing outside her open cell door when she wakes from the light fever-sleep again.
"I thought you were dead."
131317 can't reply, her tongue is like sandpaper glued to her mouth. She wonders what time it is, she see two full plates of food uneaten on her floor.
The smell makes her feel sick.
"Come on, let's go!"
So she tries to stand. Falls, knees smashing into the ground. Sucks in a breath at the pain. 
She is so dizzy. 
"Can you crawl?"
Crawl. Yes, she can crawl. 
Knees and elbows to the ground, like an old school game. Forwards, one step after another. Swaying side to side. 
Outside.
___
When they caught us, you ran. I was wondering if you forgot about that.
Always running, didn't even look back. Left me for whatever fate was coming and blocked me off from your cowardly heart.
They killed you two months later, I remember my mother told me when she came to visit.
Nobody in here gets visitors anymore. 
The first time they walked me in this building I stared at my talons in shame. I thought I would spend a year here, maybe two, before the Queen discovered us and let me out.
If I had known, I would have stared at every piece of nature I could've.
No. If I had known I would have grabbed the spear from the guard beside me and slit my own throat.
___
Everything is moving. All around 131317 black-robed guards duel with red-wrapped newcomers in a spinning room. Idly, she wonders how they can stand it, when she can barely keep herself upright. 
All the cells are open, prisoners pour into the hallways. 
Stairways, hallways, always. Always running, moving. 131352 by her side.
She doesn't remember where she is.
Only that she must get out.
A black robe slams into them, sending them flying. Her ears ring. 131352 lands with a crack, brittle old bones finally breaking. Doesn't move.
131317 has seen enough death to know that there is no point in trying to help her. 
Red whipping around the stairwell, the guard stabbed through the chest. Strong talons pulling her up before turning to help another screamer.
___
In here, we measure time differently. Weeks, months, years, they all mean too much. 
I have fourteen tick marks on my wall. For what, that's for you to decide. For me, I know that each one of those marks means five years in hell.
But in most cases it's as easy as today. Get through today. Don't think about tomorrow. There isn't one.
The thing about life is that it hurts. Of course it does. Fires are meant to burn. But if you treat them with enough love, they provide a wonderful light.
I think this is it for me, so of all the things I could have said to you... 
I'll see you tomorrow.
___
131317 turns away from the body of her only friend.
Keeps moving, up and out, up and out. Propelled by others storming the same staircase, with the same goal as them all.
Tumbles out the door. Gasping, shaking in the wind. 
Wind.
She can't breathe, and yet, somehow she breathes for years of imprisonment.
It's dusk out, the stars starting to show. 
A soft sigh of happiness escapes her as she turns her eyes to the dimming sky. By the time anyone else hears it, she is already sinking. 
Dead before she hits the ground, her final smile still etched across her worn snout. 
Not all stories have happy endings. 
But they don't all hurt either.
Category:Content (Skydream7)
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Completed)
Category:Genre (Tragedy)
Category:Genre (Short Story)