I'm growing increasingly concerned about Fleya. She's been mute for several days now, and the harsh reality of imprisonment seems to be taking a toll on her. It's heart-wrenching to witness her decline, I feel so powerless, unable to alleviate her distress. As we return from the labor tunnel, among the last of the day's workers, we find our meal waiting for us in the cell. Fleya barely acknowledges it, choosing instead to settle down for the night.
"You need to eat," I advise, pushing the tray of food toward her, but she remains indifferent. "You need all the strength you can muster. It's crucial to maintain your health in here."
Her gaze is fixed on the same spot on the cell wall, her lips sealed. I recognize this stage; it's one every inmate passes through after landing here. It's a form of acceptance, of coming to terms with one's fate. It's taken her four weeks, longer than most, but she's finally relinquished hope. In a twisted way, I'm glad, but I can't allow her to wallow in despair. For her own sake, I need to coax her out of this funk.
"I want to die, just let me die," She murmurs, her words barely audible.
"Dying here won't be peaceful," I reply, struggling to keep the edge out of my voice. "If you can't, or won't, work, they'll torture you. It won't be a swift death; they'll draw it out, relish in it."
I've contemplated it myself, but I've witnessed what they do to those who resist. If a quick, painless death were assured, it might be a different matter, but to be tortured for weeks on end, to endure agonizing mutilations, to fill the cell with the echo of my own screams, death would be a mercy. Yet, if I comply, keep my head down and do as I'm told, I'm mostly left alone. If I must choose between those alternatives, there's no question which one I'd opt for.
"You need to stay alive for when your brother comes for you," I blurt out before I can stop myself.
"You were right, he's not coming for me," She concedes, a solitary tear trickling down her cheek to dampen the back of her clenched hand. "He would have been here by now. He's given up on me."
"Nonsense. Do you know how many prisons like this exist?" My hand reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's going to take him time, but he will find you."
"Do you really think so?" She asks, her gaze shifting to meet mine. Every fiber of my being wants to yell out the harsh truth and extinguish the flicker of hope that lingers in her. But my words betray me.
"I know so."
Her eyes sparkle, reignited with a hope that had been absent these past few days. Even as I inwardly chastise myself for giving her false hope, I'm relieved to see that spark. I want her to hold onto it a little longer.
"Now eat up," I urge, pushing the tray closer to her.
This time, she complies, quickly devouring the food. A smile crosses my face as I slowly eat my own meal, relishing the stale taste of the bread.
"I think you'll like him," Fleya pipes up after swallowing her last bite of food. "Maybe he can be your brother too. Since you're alone, you can join our family."
"That's not how it works," I chuckle at her naiveté, my heart inexplicably swelling. "You have to be born siblings or become siblings through marriage."
"Do you not think of me as your sister?" Her hurt tone catches me off guard, as does the expression on her face.
The thought has never crossed my mind, but now that she's posed the question, I realize that our bond has grown significantly stronger over these past weeks. Without a second's hesitation, I would give my life for hers. Unbeknownst to me, she has become a vital part of my existence.
"Of course I do," I affirm, looking directly into her eyes with unwavering conviction.
"I do too." The brilliance of her smile transforms the gloom of our cell, filling me with gratitude for not disappointing her. Hurting her feelings would distress me, especially if it were founded on a lie. "All three of us can be a family."
"Would he accept me as one of his own?" I find myself wondering. I'm genuinely intrigued about this man whom Fleya venerates and trusts so dearly.
"He will love you because I do," She asserts, her slender hand gripping mine with surprising strength. The delicate, ladylike hands she had when we first met have now hardened. They're covered in calluses, with a crusty scab replacing a once pristine fingernail. "Once he meets you, it won't take him long to love you just as much."
A grunt of annoyance escapes Fleya as I playfully ruffle her matted hair. She detests this treatment, as it makes her feel juvenile, but I can't resist. The joy she has brought into my life during our short time together is a feeling I'd thought was lost to me forever. I'm filled with a sense of contentment, knowing that I'll be spending my last days alongside someone like her.
Our conversations often take unexpected turns. Today, I find myself wondering about her brother, the one she speaks so confidently about. Does he possess the same spirit of optimism as her? Will he indeed risk everything to save her? As much as I want to maintain the skepticism that has kept me grounded all these years, I find myself yearning for the ray of hope that she sees so clearly.
Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I imagine her brother charging into the prison, a shining knight in the darkness. We'd be whisked away, leaving behind the despair and drudgery that has become our daily existence. This fantasy seems to instill in me a sense of anticipation, an unfamiliar emotion after so many years spent in survival mode.
In the daytime, I divert myself by teaching Fleya the tricks of surviving in the prison. The harsh realities of life here are difficult for her to absorb, yet she bravely pushes through, showing an admirable resilience. Our shared experiences bring us closer, reinforcing the bond that seems to be growing stronger with each passing day.
Fleya, too, has a positive influence on me. Despite her own circumstances, she remains kind-hearted, her innocence a stark contrast to the harshness of our surroundings. Her steadfast belief in her brother's arrival is a constant reminder of her unyielding spirit. Through her, I'm learning to hope, to believe in the possibility of a brighter future.
As our days transform into weeks, our bond deepens. The once gloomy cell feels less oppressive with Fleya's persistent cheer. Her laughter fills the space, her stories weave a comforting fabric of familiarity, and her steadfast optimism chips away at my hardened exterior.
It's strange to think that in this desolate place, amidst the fear and despair, I've found something akin to a family. With each passing day, Fleya feels more like a sister to me, and the notion of her brother, our brother, coming to rescue us, feels a little less like a dream and a bit more like a promise. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I dare to hope for a future beyond these cold stone walls.