To Be Mortal

The smell of mould and mildew woke me against a cloud of hunger and pain; at first I had no idea where I was. But in my defence my senses had probably been altered by the large bruising around my head that probably caused a concussion.

My icy blue eyes flickered open slowly, my mind cooperating unwillingly. I began to process my surroundings slowly, taking them in as fast as my brain could process.

The walls were made of a cold cement… or was it concrete? Was there even a difference between the two? Yes, definitely a concussion. There was a large mirror which I assumed was one way, so they could watch me, and there was a large skylight on the ceiling It was nearly directly on top of me too; one more thing to worry about… great. Luckily there was a black screen over it to block sunlight; how ingenious. This cell was obviously designed specifically for my kind.

My hands were tied behind my back, and my ankles too. From the feeling I got I assumed silver, which was just lovely. I must have been there for a while since the skin around my shackles was dry and crisp, like toasted flesh. To me this only meant four more scars, if I had a nickel for every scar on my body I’d have enough to get them surgically removed. That is, if I even cared to; scars showed the world who I was, removing them would be like putting on a mask.

I slowly pushed myself so I could lean into the wall, letting my exhausted body go limp slightly as I inspected myself. Most of my wounds were healing or healed, a couple burned with threats of infection; but I knew it would go away in a day or so. My skin was pale and my mouth was dry, I could tell by the itching lust that had been pecking my brain like a hen since I had woken. Usually it’d make me uncomfortable but for now I ignored it.

After a little inspection I could see my long, blonde hair was still streaked in dried blood; but the question of whose it was would probably remain unknown. Yes, typically people know whose blood they have in their hair but I’m that special exception, I suppose.

I was wearing my simple beige blouse and dark jeans, but they were severely ripped; I was just thankful I was wearing something. You never know with some people.

I was drifting back into unconsciousness when a door I hadn’t noticed before opened in the wall. I shot back up, awake and alert. My bare feet scraped uselessly on the floor as I attempted to push myself up. I couldn’t; which was probably a combination of reasons for the wet floor, my lack of strength and the length of the chains around them. Also the fact both feet were firmly tied together with about ten inches of extra chain between them.

A mortal walked in, but I didn’t know him. His face was very normal and boring; forgettable. He had boring dark hair that was about as well groomed as a dead man’s garden hedge and dull eyes that revealed every emotion possible; he wasn’t even trying was he? The mortal was wearing casual clothes with a handgun strapped loosely from his ripped pocket liked a build-in belt; I didn’t know if he was trying to make some sort of fashion statement or was legitimately too poor or sloppy to carry around a real holster. Nevertheless, I looked into his eyes with no fear and all my confidence; despite my less-than-powerful position. Right now I was weak, I knew it, he knew it; the whole damn earth knew it.

“Well, well, well; what do we have here? The infamous Avianna Lynn, chained and beaten to the floor?” he leaned down to put his face close to mine and I smelled a wisp of whiskey on his breath. “How frightening…”

My mouth was so dry and my tongue was like sandpaper, so there was no spit in my mouth. I bit into my lip, hard, and blood flowed into my mouth from the puncture. Then I spat it right in his stupid face, causing him to trip back unexpectedly and shout in anger and disgust. He grabbed his gun from his holster and hit me square across the cheek with it. I grunted as the new pain knocked my senses out of me and I spat more precious blood onto the floor with a *splat*. He cursed at me, called me names, but I didn’t care. I took it as a compliment, a little more dignity in a place that would do everything it could to take that away from me. My face was pressed into the cement floor with half-open eyes, mind roaring like a highway. He grabbed me by the collar and pulled his face an inch from his, making me stare into his eyes as he growled, “Filthy leech, you’ll regret that.”, then threw me back to the floor like a ragdoll.

I hit my head and slowly began to lose consciousness. I knew they were going to kill me, not now, and definitely not painlessly, but only when my use has expired. I was going to make it as unpleasant for them as it was for me; if it was the last thing I’d do.

As the man stormed from my cell he turned to look at my crumpled body and hissed, “I promise you, I’m gonna have fun before we finally throw your ass to hell. Scared?”

I turned, my face smudged with what I knew to be my own blood now. “No.” I whispered, my lips cracked and dry, “One who has already experienced death has no need to fear it.” Moments later I slipped back into the black lagoon my brain.

I have no idea how much time passed as I flickered in and out of awareness. Sometimes I could hear them arguing through the wall, most of it muffled but my superb hearing helped me make out a few words. I can say my name came up more than once. As I slowly fell back into unconsciousness my mind danced with memories, dreams and some utter nonsense.

The sky was black with clouds, the time of day unknown. I ran through the streets, buildings crumbling around me like cookies. I ran, my dress tattered beyond belief. I screamed, unable to escape. Around me voices called, calling for me.

“Ava! Ava!” a masculine voice called from the shadows of broken wreckage.

“Jeremy!” I cried, running towards the sound before hearing…

“Ava! Where are you? They’re coming!” cried another male voice.

“Get him, Ava. Don’t let him get away!” a deep, but unmistakeable feminine voice called over.

“Ava, are you coming?” the first voice interjected

“Just like your bitch mother, you gonna leave me too?!” a low growl scraped her ear and Ava started to panic.

“No, Ava, Don’t let them get me! Ava!”

“This is your life now… with me.”

“Pathetic, weak little-”

“No, no, Ava!”

“You’re stronger than this!”

“Avianna!” he cried.

“Ava!” she cried.

“Boo.”

“Wake up, you little leech.” snarled a voice thorough the wall. I blinked my eyes and slowly and flickered them open like a dull light bulb. I heard scraping across the cold floor as a bowl-like dish slid across the floor. I heard sniggering from the point of origin and I scowled, glaring at the pet food dish they threw at me to hand my food. My name was written sloppily in black sharpie on the side and knew they were trying to torture me, I just knew it.

I carefully leaned over my dish, my muscles shaking in effort to stop me from falling face-first into the floor. I grabbed the packet in my teeth and pushed myself up, biting into it and letting the luscious liquid flow into my mouth. It spilled over the sides of my mouth but I had to focus on getting the most I could while I could. I tried to ignore the laughter but it stabbed into me worse than any knife could anyway. My efforts were as futile as if they actually were stabbing me in the gut.

Later that day I heard a man enter, but I was facing the opposite wall. I flexed my arms, wanting nothing more than to be able to move freely. “Come to taunt me some more?” I snarled, my once blue eyes now glowing red.

“No, actually.” I turned to see a young mortal man, he was carrying a clipboard and he leaned on the far wall, looking at me like a mortician would look at a dead body. I almost thought I saw pity cross his eyes. “I’m Oliver. I’ll be talking to you a lot, Ava.”

“What; are you some kind of professional torturer, Oliver?” I spat, “’Cause unless you are you aren’t getting a word outta me.”

“No, I just want to talk.” I studied him more; he had soft coloured hair that went past his ears, that one length that bothered me; too long for men but too short for woman. He was dressed in a sweater and jeans… in fact he actually looked more like a doctor than a soldier. “I’m a doctor around here, and they’ve asked me to inquire about a few details about your past they can’t seem to figure out.”

“What does my life have to do with any of their matters? The war is won, isn’t it? I am as good as dead and you have my people with their backs to the walls. I can’t help you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can Miss. Lynn.”

“Okay, maybe I can. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have a choice. It’s this or…” he coughed, “Less pleasant ways of extracting information.”

I nodded, “I can deal.”

“Listen, we’re not going to talk about your business. Just you.”

I furrowed my brow, the curiosity of mortals sometimes scared me. “Fine, what was your question?”

“Tell me about your childhood. Tell me about Halloween, 2013.”

I smirked, “Oh, that night so long ago? I don’t think I remember.”

The mortal rolled his eyes, “We only have he-said, she-said reports; and we believe that your night back then could give us some valuable information.

I sighed, what harm would this do me? “You want to hear about my childhood? Go ahead…”