Waking up, blinking through the blinding glare of a solitary golden ray of light, memories flood through her soul. What happened? She tries to remember as she adjusts her head back into the darkness of her hell. The old wooden prison that had been her home for days now left her bare body covered with painful splinters.
She once again tried to look around. Inside she can barely see the out line of her body. She peers out one of the seven small holes her captors had generously given her for air. Adjusting her sight to see the outside, she can make out the form of the traitors. Trying to see them better, she concentrates on their form. Unable to make out more than they are well built men, the one on fact she knew from personal experience, she moves her line of vision. She tries to see more, but the only forms she can make out are that of a floor and wall.
A sudden noise has her holding her breath trying to use her long forgotten ears. They’re speaking; she hears her name and then only further incoherent murmurs. After a few moments, there’s a soft thud, thud, thud. They’re walking over here. Will they let her out, or speak to her. But the soft treads move further away until she’s left with the deafening silence.
Fighting the panicked war that rages inside her, she shifts her weight to the side. Moving her once agile muscles that have turned to knotted rubber, she carefully rolls over. The rough wood begins to bite her battered hands, scrape her raw sides, and shoot flames of pain through her legs as she maneuvers to her back. Once completed, she draws a shuddered breath as she feels the rough texture all around her.
Calming down, she closes her eyes once more. Beads of sweat pour down her face so that she can taste the it on her dry tongue. Dipping a hand into the putrid water bowl bolted in the corner of her cage, she brings it shakily to her dry and cracked lips. It tastes like sweet honey to her arid mouth.
Lying there, she dreams she’s in a whirlpool. Willing her nose to smell vanilla and lavender instead of her rancid unwashed body. Imagining she could wipe away the filth and stench of six days of being locked in here, instead of laying in it. Wishing against hope that the tears she shed were instead a hot shower massaging her tired and achy soul.