Hello. I've already written more to this story, but I'll just write the beginning. I want to know what YOU would do with this story.
The cell was cold and damp, it smelled like dirty socks and mold. You couldn’t see much, just the tiny light coming from the dirty bar windows. There were no beds, nothing that could warm you. Nothing that made you think you were in a better place. Just the wet floor and old wet hay.
You could be friends with the mice, if you wanted to. They were quite friendly, actually. But they didn’t actually like the cells (surprising, isn’t it?). They would rather be upstairs in their little houses in the walls. They rarely came down, but when they did, sometimes they never went up. Why was that? Well, lets just say the rats aren’t exactly what you call “friendly.”
There were other beings there too, of course. The other prisoners moaning and groaning about what they have done to deserve this miserable treatment. And of course, the long forgotten ones living on hay, dying every second.
I’m not sure how many people have died in this inadequate place, probably several. Actually, at the moment, I wouldn’t like to think about that. Because, someday, the number of people could go up if I die, but that depends if I get out of here or not.
“Abigail...” one of the other prisoners moaned to me, I think I recall his name being Ethan, but I’m not quite sure if that is right.
I looked up, at my name being called. It was something I always did, something I probably always will do. “Ethan? Is that you? Are you doing Ok?” I had something for Ethan, for some reason, we bonded while we were in this appalling place. Of course, being a good friend, I had to worry about him.
Ethan chocked, “not really,” he whispered, “I think I’m getting worse, if not better.”
I sighed, hoping we’d get out of here soon. I hoped that someday I could actually see what Ethan looked like. In here, I could just hear his voice, and see his basic shape. But out there, where we could be free, I could see his face. I could see his skin, which he said looked like chocolate, against my (usually, but probably not now) sunburned skin. “Just keep holding on, I’ll find us a way out. Ok? Don’t give up hope yet...”
Another prisoner felt like joining our conversation, His name was Jacob, “What way out? There’s a way out? Of please, show me the way out!” He cried, “I miss my family, I miss my friends! Oh, I’d kill to get out of here! I miss everyone I loved and hated! How I wish I could see them one more time....”
Andrew gave a long sigh, “Stop that Jacob! You’ll see your petty family again, I wouldn’t doubt that for one second! There’s a way out of here is Abigail says there is!” Andrew was too positive.
“I never said...”
“But what if there is no way out!” Jacob screamed, “What if we’re stuck in this inept place forever! Oh, the anxieties we’ve had, and the harassments. So much worrying, and evil!” Jacob sobbed, “There is no way out.”
“Wait a minute...” Andrew said, “Do you hear that? Don’t you hear that noise? I think it’s the guards talking!”
I listened, and I was able to make out a few words. It was “What is” “on down” “what is all” and “noise.” Then I heard their loud boots as they trotted down the stairs. A big flashing light went on. I had not seen light for over 3 weeks, I’m guessing. I saw a little bit of light out of the lantern the guards carried when they brought food, but not such a radiant light as this. It was too much for eyes to take, I shut them tight, and fell back in the hay pile. Then, I don’t exactly know why, but for some reason, my mind must have gone blank, and my heart started pumping too much blood for me. Whatever it was, I passed out. I began to dream, dreaming about what had happened, what had gotten me in this malicious place. It started at the beginning, when I left home.