Chapter 1 - The Cage
By The Wandering Englishman
White was the only thing in the world now. Brilliant blinding light filling the crystal blue eyes that no longer observed; merely watching blankly from the corner of the sterile room. The pale, scarred face of the youth: expressionless and staring placidly at the glass door.
If he had a name, he couldn’t remember it. Lost in the void of time, along with the memories of home. There was a name constantly on his mind; sometimes it would play on his lips just in case he forgot how it felt.
The name without a face.
There had been, at one time, a face. The brunette boy knew every intricate detail of it before he had come here. Come to this place. But now, the face was but a blur, along with whatever life there was before.
Here time had no meaning. Time is such a funny thing to those who have no need of it. Just something created by man to countdown the point where mortality catches up to him. And time was the thing, used by them. The ones outside the door…
They would come. He knew this. When he woke, they would be there to take him to that place. The place he wished he could forget. Sometimes they would bait him, and he would fall for it just because it amused them.
Sitting like he was, he could hear the footsteps on the marble floor approaching.
The brunette swallowed, bringing his knees up to his chest and looking down at his bare feet. Contemplating the thin brown hair on his toes in the hopes they’d not notice him. When the door slid open with a hiss, the grey eye squeezed shut; but was unable to hide the rotten smell of the overused cologne as it filled his lungs.
Like before, he was hoisted to his feet, but he no longer fought back. That invited pain. He had, in the beginning, fought them…the time when he had a name…but the blows that followed were hard enough to break bones, and he was left to heal on his own.
But now he let himself be taken. It made things quicker; and made it easier to forget.
As he was removed from his cell, he looked around at the white walls and floors; not daring to look at the ceiling. Looking forever for an escape route that didn’t exist as they lead him towards the room…
The metal bed was cold against his back as he was laid upon it. The overhead lamp blinding his view of the room and of the masked men that were always there. As the cold prick of the needle in his arm registered, he let his head drop to the side, his eyes widening as one figure removed his mask.
Familiar whispers of words swirled in his head as the man drew closer to the bed. His hands reached out, trying desperately to hold the pale skinned wrist; but his arms, his body, felt like a dead weight. He held the man’s green eyes as the world began to grow dark, mouthing the only name he knew before the black overtook him.
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