The room was quiet, but not in a comforting way. It was the kind of silence that pressed into your ears, broken only by the faint chirp-chirp of crickets and the occasional zzzz of a mosquito darting around in the dark. The moonlight streaming through the tiny, barred window barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows on the cracked walls.
Arin sat with his back against the cold, damp wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. He stared blankly at the loaf of bread on the rickety wooden table across the room, its stale edges curling in the humid air. His stomach churned, not from hunger but from the oppressive weight of his predicament.
Five months, he thought, his jaw tightening. Just five months until the TSA entrance exam.
The exam wasn't just a test; it was his ticket to a better life, to proving everyone wrong. But how could he even think about the exam when he was stuck here, trapped in this grimy room with no support, no system, and no plan?
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his racing thoughts. How am I supposed to prepare for something this big when I'm stuck here? His gaze drifted to the barred window, where the faint glow of the moonlight beckoned like a taunt. Freedom was out there, so close yet impossibly far.
Even if I manage to get out, my aunt... No. They won't make it easy for me. They'll try to stop me. They'll try to keep me here, to keep me from reaching my goals.
The thought of their smirking faces made his fists clench. He slammed a hand against the floor in frustration, the sharp thud reverberating through the room.
The squish-squish of a slime moving lazily across the floor caught his attention. He turned his head toward the sound, grimacing as the creature left a glistening trail of slime in its wake. Near the corner, a beetle scuttled along, its shell gleaming faintly in the moonlight that streamed through a tiny, barred window.
Click-click-click.
Arin sat up abruptly, the rough surface of the floor scraping against his palms. "This is disgusting," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with irritation. He glanced around the room, his nose wrinkling at the filth. Insects skittered along the walls, and patches of green mold clung to the damp, cracked stone.
Arin grimaced. He couldn't stand it anymore. The room was filthy, and the insects and slime made his skin crawl. "I can't live like this," he muttered, his voice low but firm. "Even if I'm stuck here, I won't let this place get the better of me."
I need to become stronger. I need skills, strength, and strategy if I'm going to pull this off. But how? How do I do that when I'm locked up in this hellhole?
He pushed himself to his feet, the sound of his bare soles slapping against the gritty floor echoing softly in the confined space. He glanced around, taking in the full extent of the mess. The walls were smeared with dirt and mold, the floor littered with crumbs, scraps, and unidentifiable debris. The air smelled damp and musty, with a faint hint of something metallic.
He began pacing the room, the sound of his bare feet against the gritty floor echoing softly.
Step. Step. Step.
Arin's gaze locked onto the barred window. It wasn't large—certainly not big enough for him to escape through—but it was something. He moved closer, standing on tiptoe to peer outside. The cool night breeze brushed against his face, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, savoring the freshness. Freedom is just out there, he thought, his chest tightening. So close, yet so far.
His eyes darted around the small space, taking in every detail of his surroundings.
The walls were bare except for the patches of mold and the occasional streak of dirt. The only light came from the moon filtering through the barred window, casting faint silver patterns on the floor. A wooden table stood in one corner, its surface scratched and splintered, and the remnants of his earlier "meal" sat on it—a moldy loaf of bread that smelled worse than the room itself.
"I need to clean this place up," he said aloud, as if saying it would make the task less daunting. "If I'm going to stay healthy and strong, I can't risk getting sick from all this filth."
Arin searched the room for something—anything—that could serve as a cleaning tool. His eyes landed on a tattered piece of cloth lying near the corner, half-covered in dust. He picked it up gingerly, shaking it out, a small cloud of dust puffing into the air.
Cough! Cough!
He waved his hand in front of his face, glaring at the cloth as if it were the source of all his problems.
"Well, it's not much," he muttered, "but it'll have to do."
He started with the slime. It was still oozing along the floor, making soft plop-plop sounds as it moved. Arin approached it cautiously, wrinkling his nose. "Gross," he muttered, gripping the cloth tightly. With a quick, decisive motion, he swiped at the slime.
Squelch!
The slime resisted, clinging to the cloth in a sticky mess. "Ugh!" Arin groaned, his face twisting in disgust. He flung the cloth toward the window, the slime hitting the wall with a wet splat.
Next, he turned his attention to the bugs. They scurried along the walls and across the floor, their tiny legs making faint click-click sounds. Arin used the cloth to swat at them, muttering under his breath with each swipe.
"Get out of here!" Smack.
"You're not welcome!" Smack.
One particularly stubborn beetle darted out of his reach, and Arin let out a frustrated growl. "Fine, you win this round," he muttered, but his determination didn't waver.
As the room slowly began to look less like a dungeon and more like a livable space, Arin paused to catch his breath. He leaned against the wall, the cloth dangling from his hand, now a filthy, unrecognizable mess.
He looked around, surveying his work. The slime was gone, the bugs were mostly chased away, and the crumbs and debris were swept into a corner. It wasn't perfect—not even close—but it was better.
Arin's gaze fell on the larger objects in the room: the wooden table, the splintered chair, and a few crates piled against the wall. They loomed like obstacles, taking up valuable space in the already cramped room.
If I'm going to train here, I need space. I can't practice or do anything with all this junk in the way, he thought, his brows furrowing.
He pushed himself off the wall and approached the crates. He placed his hands on one, testing its weight. It was heavy, but not impossible to move. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.
As the room grew quieter, with most of the insects gone, Arin sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. He stared at the tiny barred window again, his mind working overtime.
The forms for the TSA exam will be out in two days, he thought, his jaw tightening. I have to get one. No matter what it takes. If I miss this opportunity, it's over.