Unbind me

Chapter 1

I press my palms against the wall, feeling its solidity, its permanence. I think of the leaves outside, blown by the wind, and I remember their fight against gravity. They want to soar, to be free, but the world keeps pulling them down.

Suddenly, I'm filled with a fierce determination. I won't let the darkness define me, I refuse to be like those leaves, trampled on, discarded, forgotten.

There's a chance, a flicker of hope in the quiet, and I intend to seize it.

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As the shadows deepen and the light outside begins to fade, I sink back against the wall, the coldness seeping through my clothes, grounding me. I close my eyes, feeling the rhythm of my breath slow, the tension in my body easing just a bit.

The quiet hum of the outside world melds with the soft echoes of my heartbeat, a lullaby I've grown accustomed to. But even as I drift, the thoughts of the new boy swirl around in my mind. Who is he? I wonder if he will scream at night like we do or if he will keep his pain bottled up, locked away like a treasure meant to be hoarded.

The weight of my eyelids drags me down, and I let it. Sleep calls to me, sweet and comforting, a refuge from the isolation that fills my waking hours. The power thrumming beneath my skin, always there, begins to quiet, merging into the background, merging into the background, retreating like the sun slipping below the horizon.

But as I begin to slip into the depths of slumber, the sounds of distant laughter pull me back, snapping me back from the edge of sleep. It's the guards, their voices light and mocking, echoing through the halls as they celebrate the chaos they've sewn into our lives.

I open my eyes, my heart racing. The laughter is a reminder of the world outside, the one that feels alien and so far away. I want to claw my way into that world, to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin again, to breathe in the fresh air without the taste of fear lingering on my tongue.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself up off the wall, rubbing my eyes to clear the sleep that clings to me like heavy fog.

I can't afford to let them break me, not now. Not when there's a chance- a flicker of something more- just outside my reach. I can't let myself drift into the dark when there's still a glimmer of
hope, however faint.

I press my hands against the cool stone of the walls, feeling the solidity of it beneath my palms. The walls of my cell may keep me in, but that doesn't define me. I can still dream of the outside, of freedom, and maybe even find a way to turn these dreams into reality.

As the laughter dies down, the quiet rushes back in. I let the silence wrap around me again, taking a deep breath. I can almost hear the rustling of leaves in the wind, the distant call of the ocean, and I imagine the sun setting over the horizon, splashing colour across the sky.

With each breath, I feel my body begin to relax again, my heartbeat steadying as the weight of sleep beacons me once more.

I think of Juliette- her name spinning in my mind like a bright thread woven into the fabric of my reality. I'll remember it. I'll carry it with me, and I'll find a way to reach her.

As I drift deeper into sleep, I hold onto the fragments of hope, the possibility of connection, understanding. I can't let the darkness pull me under, not when there is a chance of finding light, even in this place.