NOVEL SIMPLE The Light That Follows Darkness
Chapter 3: Trapped in a Nightmare
I was in a daze as they forcefully dragged me out of the room, still reeling from the shock of what had just happened. The gravity of my situation was crystal clear—I had no illusions about it. From the very beginning, I knew this was no minor incident.
To put it bluntly, I was screwed. Stranded in a remote location, cut off from any means of contacting help, my family probably assumed I was missing. After a futile search, they would eventually assume the worst—I was dead.
And the worst part? There was no way out. This place was a nightmare, a fortress. Its security rivaled that of any politician, ruler, general, or VIP.
They dragged me in front of a massive metal door, adorned with locks and bolts. As it swung open, my breath caught in my throat. The sight before me was breathtaking—a vast expanse, the size of a stadium, filled not with seats and a field, but with rows upon rows of cells, cages, and a central gathering place.
This place, this prison, was a living hell. The air was filled with moans, cries, curses, and threats emanating from the hundreds of rooms.
Some rooms had bars, some had glass walls, and some had no walls at all. Inside, I saw people—chained, beaten, naked, mutilated. They had been here for far too long, enduring unimaginable horrors.
Fear and despair surged through me as I realized this was where I would end up.
Rick, that sick and inhuman monster, dragged me to a solitary cell with a thick door and threw me inside. With a sneer, he said, "Enjoy your stay here while it lasts. And don't think that 'until it lasts' means until someone bails you out. No, no, no! On the contrary, it means until you either break completely or die."
"Hehehehahahahahaahahaa!!" With that chilling laughter, he slammed the door shut, leaving me alone in the room.
The room I found myself in was harshly illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights, casting a stark and cold atmosphere that seemed to seep into every corner. The walls were bare, painted in a dull shade of gray, devoid of any decoration or personal touch. The air felt stale and heavy, as if it had been trapped within these walls for far too long.
Four bunk beds lined the walls, their metal frames creaking with every movement. Each bed had a thin mattress that offered little comfort, and a gray blanket that seemed worn and threadbare. The beds were neatly arranged, but their presence only served as a reminder of the countless others who had been confined in this desolate place.
At the end of the room, a small bathroom stood, separated from the rest of the room by a thin, tattered gray curtain. The toilet, a grimy porcelain fixture, sat in one corner, its surface stained and discolored. The sink, a rusted basin with a cracked mirror above it, offered no solace or escape from the grim reality of the room. The shower, a metal contraption with a worn-out curtain, hung limply, its once-white fabric now tinged with a sickly yellow hue.
The bathroom was a place of necessity, a functional space devoid of any comfort or luxury. The cold tiles underfoot sent a shiver up my spine as I reluctantly stepped inside, the sound of dripping water echoing in the silence. The lack of privacy, with only a thin curtain separating the toilet, sink, and shower, added to the overall sense of vulnerability and confinement.
There was nothing in this room to make it feel like a home. No personal belongings, no familiar scents or mementos. It was a sterile and impersonal environment, designed to strip away any sense of individuality or humanity. The absence of any personal touch only served to amplify the feeling of isolation and despair that permeated the air.
As I stood in that room, taking in the bleak surroundings, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of loss. This was not just a physical prison, but a place that sought to break the spirit and extinguish any flicker of hope. It was a constant reminder of the powerlessness and vulnerability that came with being trapped in this nightmarish fortress.
Surprisingly, I seemed to be the only occupant, which made me wonder why there were so many beds. Perhaps they were expecting more prisoners soon. The thought sent shivers down my spine.
Despite being in a state of shock, I sat on the bed, lost in thought.
What should I do now? How can I escape? What will they do to me? Why was I brought here? What will happen to my mother and sister?
Countless questions swirled in my mind, but no answers seemed to fit. The only conclusion I reached was that I needed information.
I had to gather as much information as possible—about the facility's size, the number of prisoners, the guards. But the biggest question loomed over me: Would I be able to survive whatever they had planned for me?
Time slipped away as I wallowed in misery and helplessness. Nothing could lift me from my despair until I heard a knock on the door and saw a small gap opening.
A tray with a plate of food and a cup of water slid through the gap and onto the floor. The sight of the food made my stomach turn—it looked like it had been scavenged from a garbage bin. Moldy bread with green spots and a sour smell, a bowl of soup that resembled dirty water with unidentifiable chunks floating in it. The only thing that seemed remotely drinkable was the water. I grabbed the cup and gulped it down, ignoring the rest of the meal that made me feel nauseous just by looking at it.
Observing my actions from the upper slit of the door, the guard who brought the food exclaimed, "Hey kid! If I were you, I'd eat the food no matter how terrible it looks."
"What does it matter to you if I eat it or not? Huh?"
"It's nothing to me, just a piece of advice! If you want to survive what's coming, I suggest you eat what's given to you. Anyways, I'll be back in ten minutes to collect the tray. If you want to eat, hurry up before I return." With those words, the guard left.
The guard's advice didn't sound malicious, so I reluctantly attempted to eat the food.
After two spoons of soup and a nibble of bread, I gave up and pushed the tray away.
The taste was as repulsive as I had imagined, if not worse.
Ten minutes later, the guard returned and took the tray without saying a word. Left alone in the room, I had nothing to occupy myself, no one to talk to. I was alone with my thoughts, which grew increasingly depressing.
"Am I going to die here alone?" echoed in my mind, repeating over and over.
I lay on the bed, feeling the pain in my ribs and arm from the earlier beating. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably—I hadn't cried since my father's passing.
For about fifteen minutes, I cried until exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into a restless sleep. That marked the end of my first day in this hellish place.
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