Into the Unknown

Emilia turned on her cot, the springs underneath her choking on dust. The light pierced her eyelids, luring her consciousness back into the grey cell and urging her thoughts to wander from corner to corner, to deepen the paths they had already etched into the cold cement floor. Something rattled on the other side of the wall.

“To hell with this crap!” a prisoner yelled, as he did the night prior and any before that. “Let me out! Let me out!”

“Shut it, Yaro,” a woman groaned, perched right at the edge of her bed. “People are trying to sleep.”

“Bullshit! You can’t get any shut-eye here, ‘Elena! They want to wring us dry, you know that!” The floor shuddered, metal grating against metal as hinges strained to remain unmoved. “I’m getting out, ya hear me?!”

“You’re making it worse. There’s literally no point.”

“Why bother? You’re wasting your breath,” another prisoner joined in. His tone measured and voice low, he spoke unhurriedly, as if waiting for the brief moments when the commotion subsided. “He won’t listen either way and he’s not exactly wrong either.”

“Petro, you too?” Yelena shook her head.

“Have you ever seen somebody get back?”

“There was Lilja.”

“She got pregnant,” Petro chuckled. “But I bet you’ve never seen the kid.”

“Let me out! Guards! Guards! Let me out!” Yaro gripped the cold iron once more, the collar strangling his neck beginning to emit light. “What have I even done to deserve this?!”

Silence.

“What have YOU done to deserve this?!” The bars shrieked against the floor, crunched like glass underneath heavy boots. Yaro bared his teeth and snarled, red rage flooding his face and dripping from his thick beard alongside saliva. “You can’t tell me it’s sane!”

“Shut up,” Petro muttered. Overgrown hair fell into his eyes and his back hunched over, a leathery hand pressed against his ear. The hem of his sleeve seemed to have rotten away, black mould weaving its hyphea over the sparse warp threads to then eat through the weft. Petro shivered, shrunk further into himself.

“Your bitch of a wife was cheating on you!”

“I swear to the Architect, shut the fuck up!” Petro yelled. He sprung up, chipped nails clawing at the wall between their cells.

“The Architect is dead, just like ‘Mila’s brat!” Yaro slammed his fist, plaster giving in under his knuckles. Thunder barely contained, the corridor shook, mortar crumbling where it lay between the bricks.“How the hell is any of this fair?!”

Emilia turned onto her back. Face hidden behind her arm to shield her from dust and debris, she lay in deadly stillness. She didn’t want to listen or to hear, to be and have to think. Sleeplessness had robbed her of reason, filling her mind with distorted images in its stead; she saw her Stas, his open arms, the playful sparkles igniting in his eyes as wind ruffled his chestnut hair, and her beloved Andriej, strong and lively and so, so, so quick to laugh. That boy, like skin taken off his father’s back. Once upon a time she despaired over carrying him for nine months just to learn he wouldn’t resemble her in the slightest. Now she wished she could see his face again.

Another tremor ran through the building. Emilia curled into a ball. What little plaster had still clung to the ceiling finally dared to let go. It came down crumbling. Right over Andriej’s head.

“Petro, that’s enough!” Yelena rushed to the bars of her cell.

“Somebody gotta rip his tongue out!”

“When have I said anything that wasn’t true, ha?!” Yaro stomped his foot and the first bar clattered to the ground. “Send me the guards! I wanna talk!”

Andriej wouldn’t get up. Blood began to pool around his head, caved in yet still mostly intact. Emilia watched as his shoulders raised to draw in a shallow breath. Her lip quivered.

He wasn’t real.

Her boy was long dead.

He couldn’t be killed again.

“Let me out!”

Her legs moved of their own accord. Crumpled like a leaf in fall, Emilia crawled her way to the fading mirage, trembling fingers weaving through his hair. Just to feel it, to this time say her goodbyes properly, to ease his pain, to apologise… First and foremost, to apologise for every day he wouldn’t see for himself.

The chains rattled.

Humming of tree crowns filled Emilia’s head. Her back burned. Condensation from the wall cooled her nape.

Steps.

“That is precisely why you’re isolated.”

Emilia couldn’t see. Her collar stung and began to heat.

“Soulless.”

Steps. Closer. Closer every second.

“And unable to even pretend that you’re human.”

Yaro screamed with the power stolen from a gale, so loud his lungs must have expanded as far as the iron bars allowed. The wind tore through his entrails and ripped out his voice as it escaped, fuelling the storm until it faded to a gentle spring mizzle. His hands remained strong, however, and he had a clear use for what little breath still remained trapped in his chest. Quiet now, Yaro urged another melody into the air, composed entirely of groaning and rapid, fragmented breaths.

Gurgling stopped at last.

Emilia fell to the floor. The door to her cell opened.

“Will you come? Or will you let them drive you crazy?” Yaro coughed. “Your choice.”

The key to her collar landed beside her head. Her gaze slid across it, down the dirty floor, and towards Andriej, her little boy lying quietly where she left him under the plaster. Just as dead as a moment prior. If she stayed, she could still keep him, still hear the distant echoes of his laughter, she would forever remember every detail of his face. Perhaps Stas would eventually join them too, and even if only within the constrains of that cold, moist cell, they would be a family again. Her heart beat faster at the thought, sweat coming over her hands. Emilia knew her answer. She would do anything, sacrifice anything, to turn back time… Exhausted out of her mind, Emilia propped herself on her elbows and resumed her crawl, back to where her life was torn apart. Her legs refused to lift her body. She wasn’t meant to stand up anyway. She —

Pat. Pat. Pat.