Jasmine
III
I come to again as I’m being carried to a cell. I look up, but can’t recognize the fighter carrying me. Realizing that I’m awake, he whistles to another one of Zaro’s minions behind him. The other one is tall, and lanky, unlike most of Zaro’s buff soldiers. He grabs my arm, and they start to drag me.
Being carried was definitely better.
I’m dragged through blocks and blocks of cells, deranged prisoners gawking at me from each one. Finally, we reach their intended location.
A cell, of course, with grey walls, no lights, and a bowl in the front, filled with murky liquid. There are tick marks on the walls, presumably from former prisoners.
They throw me in to the solitary cell, and lock the door behind me. The taller one spits into the cell on his way out, and smirks as he locks the door. Wow.
As soon as I hear the click of the grate, I jump to my feet and begin feeling around in the dark. Maybe I can find a way out. At least I’m not cuffed, like I was the last time I was in here.
As I feel around the smooth cell, my hand suddenly runs over a deep groove in the wall. What is that? I bring my other hand in to help, and move them around together, feeling the shape of the mark. Eventually, I realize that it is one of the tick marks from earlier.
How many of them are there? How long were the previous prisoners in here? Were they eventually released, or...
No. I can’t think about that possibility. I will get out of here. There’s no other option.
Moving my hands back to the smooth dents in the wall, I feel around some more. There are tens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of them. Whoever was here before, was here for a decent chunk of time.
Busy with my tick mark task, I knock over the bowl of liquid, forgetting that it was there in the first place. The liquid drains on to the floor, soaking my cargo pants. Great.
I get up, confused on what to do. How am I going to spend my time until the city trial? I have nothing to entertain myself with, except for my now-drenched clothes and the empty bowl. I feel around some more, until I find it. Ceramic, I can tell from the smooth surface. It’s almost smoother than the cell walls.
I have to figure out a way to get out of here. I mean, what can I use? My soaked clothes are barely of use to wear- let alone as escape material. I feel for the bowl again. What can I use this for?
I run my hand along its surface, but before I can think of anything, I hear the screech of the cell door again, and light floods the room. In my panic, I drop the bowl and it shatters on the floor, into millions of tiny pieces.
I turn around to see what the guards want, and I have just enough time to glimpse a person thrown into the cell with me.
I think it’s a guy, despite his long, silky black hair, that’s even longer than mine. He has a slim, but fit figure, and spits blood out of his mouth as he hits the floor. He is handcuffed, unlike me, but even with him bent over in an attempt to make the handcuffs more comfortable, I can tell he’s tall. Like... very tall. Around 6’7. His clothes are tattered, and he has holes in his unfit shoes. Before I can make any further observations, the guards shut the cell door again, but not before they sneer at me.
“That was your water bowl, girl. Good luck in drinking without it.” Whatever.
I rush over to the figure, unconcerned with the guards’ comment. If things go the way I want them to, we’ll both be out of here in less than a day, so there’s no need for the forsaken bowl.
Cairo
IV
I awaken as I’m being thrown into a cell. I spit blood out of my mouth as I hit the floor, shocked by the cool, hard cement. Dang. Not even a bed?
I have just enough time to look up and see a girl. She has tan skin, and long, dark, brown hair, shorter than mine, but still silky and smooth. It cascades down her back in loose ringlets, like the bangles on her wrist. Are those gold? Actually, those don’t look like the only expensive thing about her. She has well-tailored cargo pants, and a blouse, which look... costly, to say the least. What's somebody that rich doing here?
She rushes over to me, her hair falling loosely over her shoulder.
“Are they gone?” I manage to squeak out, my voice still thick with blood.
“Yeah. What’s your name? Where’d you come from? Why are you here, better yet, have you been here before? Do you know how long it’ll be until they let us out? I’ve been here before, just not in... these cells. They’re different.”
What does she mean? I’ve been here plenty of times before, and I don’t see anything wrong with this cell. I look around, my cheek still flat on the concrete.
Wait... she’s right. There are no windows, and we’re in pitch darkness. I didn’t notice before, because of my hazy state, but I see it now. Only the small amount of light seeping through the door cracks illuminates the room, shining off of the strange girls’ bangles and hitting the walls in small, gleaming flecks. It’s barely enough to illuminate the small bowl on the floor, a now-broken ceramic work. I remember her dropping it when I was shoved in here.
In addition to the odd darkness of the room, there are no bars, or artworks on the walls, unlike the cells I’ve been in before. Why?
This couldn’t be... an execution cell... could it?
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