Little Girl Lost.

I teetered between ripping the flier into pieces and staring at the paper for hours, memorizing every detail until every last letter was burned into the dark space beneath my eyelids. In some way, holding it in my hands gave me the sense of being connected with everyone back home. My eyes must have poured over every character on the sheet hundreds of times before the emotional toll finally left me enervated and I couldn't take any more. I crumpled the paper back into a compact ball and halfheartedly tossed it into the far corner of the room.

I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw a fit. I longed to make a scene that would force someone, anyone, to listen to me. I waited for the breakdown, I waited for the space in my head to fill with static and panic but nothing came. Devoid of emotion, I was completely numb. I didn't feel enough pain, frustration, fear or anger to lash out and scream at the ceiling for answers to why this was happening to me. Perhaps all the gray concrete blocked out whoever, or whatever, was supposed to be up there listening to me.

Or maybe they just didn't care. Why would they pay attention now?

I must have remained slouched over on the floor for hours, shoulders hunched up to my chin and arms draped and dangled lazily over my knees. For the first time in days, my mind was quiet. There was no static, there was no panic or cold fog creeping up behind me. I couldn't tell if the reality of where I was and what was going to happen to me had truly set in or if I was too emotionally vacant and depleted to invest so much energy in caring.

But then, it didn't really matter either way.

Hours, or what felt like hours, passed by as I remained slumped over myself with my back pressed to the wall until I was pulled out of my apathy by the sirens signalling the beginning of another day.

"Did I really just sit through the entire night?"

I shook my head, hoping to clear the confusion and pulled my weary body up off the floor, trudging over to the metal door that was slowly being pulled back across the floor.

"Here's to another day in hell."

As I gingerly stepped out into the hallway, I let my eyes scan up and down the narrow corridor; hoping that my gaze wouldn't meet the snake who was always patrolling the cell block, but my attention was brought to someone else instead.

Layla's doorway had remained empty, the guards passing it by as if the cell was invisible during every patrol but today, a small girl stood in her place. Short blonde hair framed her tear-stained, freckled cheeks and judging by the lack of bruises, she hadn't been here for long.

"Does this mean she's..gone?" My heart thudded in my throat, "Is this my fault?"

My glance darted to Tracey but her soft eyes weren't there to meet mine, instead they were locked with the gray floor. Her arms hung lazily from her shoulders, I saw her knees buckle slightly beneath the weight that was beginning to press down on her and my heart buckled along with it. It wasn't fair that I could only stand by and do nothing.

I wondered what they would do if I jumped across the corridor and wrapped my arms around her.

I wanted to reach out and hold her in my arms, let her cry and tell her it'd be okay. I longed to have that succor, just quiet contact with another person. In that moment, consoling someone else seemed to be close to the most comforting thing I could ask for.

Yet, it made sense. If you're so cut off from other people to the point that even in a crowded room you felt isolated and lonely; it would be so much easier to extinguish the last flickering ember of hope you had left. Without hope, you gave up and they succeeded in stomping out the light.

"So how do you keep it alive?"

I wandered back to the flier; teetering between the prospect of letting myself fall off the edge of hope, giving up and giving in..and hoping. Hoping for Tracey, hoping for Layla, hoping for myself, but I wasn't sure that I knew exactly how to get to that point or what to do with it once I got there. What was the point of holding on when you already knew where the end of the line lay? It wasn't as if there was a way to get out of here, so perhaps hope was futile.

The siren sounded. My attention darted back to Tracey, hoping she wasn't looking so dejected and forlorn; hoping she had something to reassure me with but she remained hunched over and trembling. Now it was my turn to inconspicuously grab her arm and pull her along with me through the hallway.

"Where did Layla go?" I whispered to her once we had reached the cafeteria.

She shrugged her shoulders, "It doesn't matter. She's not coming back."

"Do you mean.."

"She's probably in the Hole..or dead." She managed to choke out in between tears.

I knew better than to tell her everything was okay, because it wasn't okay. There was nothing about this situation or the people involved that was okay, there was no indication that it would ever be okay. I couldn't tell her that everything would be fine, that we would get through this, that we would come out on the other side. Frankly, both of us knew that that wasn't true.

"I'm sorry, T."

"No, it ain't your fault." She hiccuped, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

I wondered if it was my fault. Maybe if I didn't do anything, if I didn't jump between Layla and the guard, maybe she would have been okay. What if I had made matters worse? What if I was the reason she was in "the Hole" or worse..

"Are you going to be okay?" I didn't think of how asinine the question was until the words were already hanging in the air.

"Yeah, kid. I'm good." She whispered halfheartedly, trying to toss me a smirk to ease my worry. I think the gesture was meant more to reassure herself. It didn't seem to work.

I could see her putting that facade back up, rebuilding the shields piece by piece until she looked composed again. Other than the tracks the tears had left through the thin layer of dirt and grime on her face, nobody ever could have guessed that she had been upset.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" She replied through a mouth full of oatmeal.

"That..push it all away, forget it ever happened. How do you do that?"

"You do what you have to do, kid."

Maybe that was what I needed to do. Push it all away until it was buried under layers and layers of guilt, anger, sadness and fear. If I couldn't feel it, it didn't exist and if it didn't exist, I couldn't be in pain could I? Perhaps that was my answer. If none of it was there, maybe it'd be a little easier to keep myself alive one more day.

How much would it hurt to make all the hurt go away? If I could just turn off my emotions and get rid of the paralyzing fear, the sadness, the anger- if it could all go away, would that really be so bad? What if it helped?

The sirens sounded again, signalling the start to another day that would leave me exhausted and weak. At least, I hoped, I wouldn't be surrounded by blood and carnage. I felt guilty for being relieved that I was assigned to the kitchen, like I was letting Tracey down or not being there for her in some way.

"It's not like I had a choice in the matter."

I just hoped she'd be okay by herself.

"She's been fine up until now. You're not her savior. She doesn't need you."

As if I could save anybody.

As if anybody could save us. There was nobody coming for us, there were no police, there was no hero. There is no shining hand descending from the heavens, coming to whisk us away from this prison and make the light come back. It was empty, devoid and hopeless.