Kaia Summers
Last Meal
Trapped. She was trapped like a caged animal with no way out. Every inch of her body hurt. Her body wanted to scream, beg for mercy, but her mind said no. That would be weakness. She could not be weak. She would not be weak. She had come far to long and worked far to hard to be weak now. She had not cried out when the officers had beaten her, when Michael....when Hades had set back and watched. She had not cried for mercy then and she wouldn't now. She refused.
Food. They had asked her to think about food now? With pain and blood staining every inch of her body they had asked her to think about food? Her stomach growled with hunger. How long had it been since she had eaten? How long had she been trapped? Caged? With only visions and memories of a life that seemed so long ago It was hard to believe that she had once been a powerful witch.
Food. She was suppose to be thinking about food. It seemed like ages ago since she had eaten a cheeseburger, topped with bacon and ranch and loaded cheese fries. Her stomach growled angerily again. That was what she had requested. But why did they want her to think about food now? Wasn't this suppose to mean something? wasn't she suppose to be afraid of this? She couldn't remember and she hurt to much to be afraid. Food. She would be getting some soon, the guard had said. How long had it been since she had been without it? Since she had seen daylight? Or moonlight? She couldn't remember. Was she suppose to remember?
Food, The guard was coming again, Was he brining her meal now? Or was it time for her questioning? She shivered, praying to whatever lay in the universe that the questioning would end soon. The guard was here now, something in his hand. She was to weak, to tired to be curious, to ask questions. A tray. He had a tray. Was that her food? Her burger? The guard grins at her with a devious little grin. Slowly the tray slips through the bar, tilts side ways. No, no, her mind screams, the food isn't suppose to go that way. She watches as the food slips to the ground and lands on the dust filled floor of the jail cell.
No...the food isn't suppose to go like that! Torture, this was just another ring of torture. The guard just laughs, a sick, twisted laugh. With a groan of agony, she leans forward, grabbing the head of the now wasted burger, taking the breaded, ketchup lined food and, with as much strength as she could muster, threw it through the bars and watched as the bread smacked the guard, leaving a greasy red stain on his cleaned uniform. The guard growls. He is pissed. He grabs the night stick from his pocket, reaching through the bar and smacking her with it, hard to the head. She doesn't whimper, she doesn't flinch. She has learned better then that. She just glare back definently, blissfully unaware that this would be her last night on earth...
Food. They had asked her to think about food now? With pain and blood staining every inch of her body they had asked her to think about food? Her stomach growled with hunger. How long had it been since she had eaten? How long had she been trapped? Caged? With only visions and memories of a life that seemed so long ago It was hard to believe that she had once been a powerful witch.
Food. She was suppose to be thinking about food. It seemed like ages ago since she had eaten a cheeseburger, topped with bacon and ranch and loaded cheese fries. Her stomach growled angerily again. That was what she had requested. But why did they want her to think about food now? Wasn't this suppose to mean something? wasn't she suppose to be afraid of this? She couldn't remember and she hurt to much to be afraid. Food. She would be getting some soon, the guard had said. How long had it been since she had been without it? Since she had seen daylight? Or moonlight? She couldn't remember. Was she suppose to remember?
Food, The guard was coming again, Was he brining her meal now? Or was it time for her questioning? She shivered, praying to whatever lay in the universe that the questioning would end soon. The guard was here now, something in his hand. She was to weak, to tired to be curious, to ask questions. A tray. He had a tray. Was that her food? Her burger? The guard grins at her with a devious little grin. Slowly the tray slips through the bar, tilts side ways. No, no, her mind screams, the food isn't suppose to go that way. She watches as the food slips to the ground and lands on the dust filled floor of the jail cell.
No...the food isn't suppose to go like that! Torture, this was just another ring of torture. The guard just laughs, a sick, twisted laugh. With a groan of agony, she leans forward, grabbing the head of the now wasted burger, taking the breaded, ketchup lined food and, with as much strength as she could muster, threw it through the bars and watched as the bread smacked the guard, leaving a greasy red stain on his cleaned uniform. The guard growls. He is pissed. He grabs the night stick from his pocket, reaching through the bar and smacking her with it, hard to the head. She doesn't whimper, she doesn't flinch. She has learned better then that. She just glare back definently, blissfully unaware that this would be her last night on earth...