#ayy...

  When she was thrown unceremoniously into what felt like a jail cell, she then realized she could not remember the events that lead up to her capture. Her black hair was still in its usual messy bun, a few strands hanging out here and there. A stinging, empty hole sat where her left eye was supposed to be, still dripping with fresh blood and covered with an eye patch shaped like a diamond. She didn’t realize yet, but she had been marked by the man that kidnapped her - he was associated with diamonds, like the card suit, but preferred black to red. Her hazel eye stung with tiredness, the tingling, almost painful sensation from trying to keep your eyelids open while very sleepy. Her clothes were replaced by an outfit akin to a prisoner convicted of a crime, a pumpkin-colored jumpsuit. A name tag pinned over her rapidly beating heart reminded her of her given name: Libra Kate.

  She took in her surroundings. The space felt cramped, like the room inside of an elevator. A small window rested in the top right corner of the back wall, too high up to be able to reach up and look out, even when starting upon the back of the bed tucked in that corner of the room. On the right edge of the wall closest to the door, - the left wall, if one was to stand with their back to the rear wall - there was a clock ticking away. The door was made of steel, with a barred window showing normal doors that belonged in an apartment and bright lights, and a slit on the bottom just big enough to fit envelopes through.

  As she observed the space at the bottom of the door, an envelope came through. Who sent it? Nothing changed from outside the door, so the letter might as well have come from nowhere. She gently stood up, grimacing from the soreness of her joints, and picked up the envelope, observing it and turning it over in her hands. It was in a beige envelope, marked with a red stamp and the words ‘classified’ and 'Doctor Money’. What a strange name.

“Hello, miss Kate. You have been chosen to stay here in my custody. Don’t worry, you’re relatively safe. You’re one of the 1% of the population of this lovely nation that isn’t infected with a deadly virus, so you better be grateful you’re here.”

  The latter was written on light gray stationery, with organized, somewhat fancy typing. Typing, not writing. A disease..?

  Another letter came up, following up the previous one.

“Don’t worry. You’re immune. To make your stay more comfortable, you will be sent letters. By me. As well as your own personal Happy Buddy™. Others may also send you letters, but those are in no way authorized. You’ll get them anyway. Reading them is your choice.”

  There was something horribly off about the situation at hand. Happy Buddy™? Unauthorized letters? What had Libra gotten into-?

  Another letter. It was held within a bright blue envelope, marked by a sticker with a smiley face on it. The stationery was a pale yellow color, with a border consisting of autumn leaves.

“Hey buddy!!! Are you feeling alright?? Be happy, friend!! If not, here!! I have a gift for you, isn’t that sweet?? They’re confetti poppers! Pop one, two, all of them, maybe?? My name is Mister Smiley!! I’m your Happy Buddy™!!”

  Libra removed the five poppers in question, looking at them quizzically in her hand. One by one, she gingerly tugged at the string attached to the end, flinching when the poppers finally burst, releasing a small cloud of colorful shreds of papery… stuff. It was better than being all alone with nothing to do, at least. That was a good couple minutes of suspense, tugging sloowly at the little string until she got the bejesus scared out of her by a tiny explosion.

  As she watched the last bits of confetti drift slowly to the ground, two more letters filtered through the bottom of the door. A delicate message in an ornate, rose-colored envelope, and another in a dirty manila-like casing. She opened the first one carefully, trying to not tear the pretty design on the outside. A woman named Charlotte with carefully-calligraphed cursive handwriting had penned to her, simply asking some questions.

“Hello, are you there? I am Charlotte. I run the bakery down the street… perhaps you could come some time? I’m terribly lonely…”

  It seemed to need a follow-up, but the closest she got was the dirty memo. It was on messy parchment paper, slightly crumbled with rough handwriting.

“Greetings, friend! I heard they had put you in a cage. Jailed, are we? What a naughty woman you’ve turned out to be, Libra. Innuendo not intended! Anyway, I thought I should send you a little something. It’s not much… simply a painting, and a little friend for you.”

  Libra nearly teared up. Salvadore… she fondly remembered moments with a very close friend under that name. The painting folded within the envelope was small, but lovely, painted in an expressionist style. She then noticed what Sal meant by a friend.