Escape Artist

Again. I’m sitting here, staring at the same dirty concrete floor again. Scrapes and bruises cover my arms and legs from my earlier struggles. The eerie echo of the dripping dirty water in the corner of the room is taunting me. I can feel my anger growing every time a drop hits this filthy floor. 

Sinking my nails into my mud stained green dress, I then tare my hands away from it and grab the plate near me and throw it against the wall, shattering it on impact and smashing the rotten food against the wall, sending glass and unknown food across the side of the room, “GOD DAMN IT!”

Standing up now, wobbling in place, I move my long, tangled brown hair behind my ear and look around the room with my eyes now filled with fiery rage, “What kind of sorcery shit are you pulling?!” I yell at the bars leading into the dark abyss of a hallway, no longer scaring me as it did before, “Three fucking times now! I know I made it out! How are you doing this?!”

No response came from the intense darkness before me. My anger fueled my stomping as my feet painfully smacked against the concrete, sending echoes through the cells and halls.

“Let me out! NOW!” I scream again into the darkness, wrapping my hands around the cold, rusted iron bars.

“Nobody is coming to help us. Nobody will ever come to help us,” I hear the boy in the cell next to mine say, his voice quiet, full of hopelessness.

“I’ll send help once I get out of here! You’ve seen how close I’ve gotten,” I respond, leaning against the bars, trying to get a good look at him but only managing to see his dirty bare feet.

“What do you mean?” He asks me, hiding a doubtful  laugh in his throat, “All you’ve done since you’ve been brought here is sleep then throw a tantrum. We’re doomed.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about! Just the other day I managed to break one of the bars off. You must have seen me running down the hall. Somehow I ended up back here, even though I managed to get outside. Here, listen. I’m going to get out like I did yesterday.”

Turning away from the bars, I listen closely for a response from him but his scoffs and then silence just make it clear to me that he doesn’t believe a word I say. Ignoring his disbelief, I take the stool from the corner of the room next to a small school desk and dragged it over to the wall. Climbing it, I stretch my arms up the wall to the same vent I escaped through yesterday, only to find more painfully cold concrete.

“What? Where is it?” I yell, looking up and bringing my arms back down.

“Where’s what?” The boy’s voice echo from the other cell.

“The-The vent! It was here yesterday!” I stutter, almost falling off the chair.

“There is no vent in that cell. Trust me, I used to be in that one,” his annoyed voice echo to me again. 

“But it was here yesterday,” my eyes widen in panic and I hopped down from the stool and flash my eyes along the walls, but there was no sign of a vent anywhere.

“Lady, I suggest you get some more sleep. They’re less likely to choose you if you’re asleep anyway.”

Standing in silence, I swallow hard and nod to myself, letting myself lay down in the middle of the floor again, curling up and closing my eyes. I wince as the floor wraps me in a cold, hard blanket of hopelessness. I just want to escape. I will escape…

Opening my eyes again, I found my cell brighter than before. My eyes glistened as I saw light shine through a brand new window, just big enough for me to fit through. Now is my chance.

“Hey! There’s a window here now! I’m going to get out and get us help!” I call out to the boy in the other cell.

No response.

Standing there in silence, I can only beg to myself and this empty, damp room that he’s only asleep. I grip my hands into fists and breathe in, trying to calm myself. I don’t want to think the worst. I turn my attention towards the stool, right where I left it. Looking above it, I notice that where the vent was, is still covered by concrete. Maybe they covered it up while I was asleep? I don’t know. But, at the moment, my main focus is the window. 

I grab the chair and pull it over to the window. I squint my eyes as the light shining through almost blinds me, covering the blue sky behind the frame. I press my hands on the glass and feel the warmth of the sun that has laid upon it. My lips quiver at the sensation and I lay my cheek on the glass.

“I’m going home,” I whisper to myself, letting a tear of relief fall from my eye and down my cheek.

I take a heavy inhale of this damp air, and exhale just as heavily. Then, I back my head away and raise my hands and slam them into the window, easily knocking the frame out. I lean forward and watch as it falls down just an inch onto soft grass. Looking up, I see a bright blue sky, clear of any clouds. It looks almost artificial. I lean forward and let my head go out the window, feeling the clean air infiltrate my lungs. Strangely, there is no wind, or no feeling of the sunlight beaming down on me, but I don’t care. I lift my body and lean onto the windows ledge. The hard pressure of the concrete windowsill sinking into my stomach hurts, but in this position I’m able to use my feet to nudge myself further up the wall and out the window. Stretching out my arms, I grab the grass and pull myself out. I feel myself hit the soft, yet pointy grass, and let myself  roll onto my back.

“Yes! I’m out,” I say, my smile as bright as my eyes as I look up at the blue sky, still clear of any clouds or sun.

Quickly, I get to my feet and don’t even dare to look behind me. One dirty and scraped foot in front of the other, I start to run into this plain, grassy field. I need to get away. As I run, I reach out. I reach out to something. I reach out.

And then I’m back again. Again. I’m sitting here, staring at the same dirty concrete floor again…