Void ~ When There's Nothing Left

•<Part One: Evermore Darkness>• Part 1

•<Part One: Evermore Darkness>• 

( age 12 )

Darkness. It was there when he was born, and it is here; where he will die. The stench of rotten flesh and urine penetrated his nostrils, even after four hours he still wasn't used to it. Matthew's tears had long sense dried though, and he was just left feeling stricken and numb. 

His back burned in pain, though far more bearable then earlier. If Matthew moved the dried blood would fall and it would bleed freshly again. They were wounds from the lashings he had received so generously before being thrown into this... Hole. When it was still barely light and he had gotten a look at his surroundings, it had been a concrete cell with a single door with a small iron bar window. By where the handle would be was a hole for a key, which Matthew did not have. 

In a far corner there was the body of an elderly man. He had not spoken or moved sense Matthew had been thrown in here, weeping on the opposite side of the small cell. Left to die. 

And the small boy, no older then twelve, and horrified of the darkness that chased him mercilessly both in reality and in his mind, silently wished for his mother. But she would never come. It was all her fault Matthew was here. Sold to slavery. Beaten. Lashed. Worked until he no longer could feel his legs. 

He was weak. And that single word invaded his mind, as he buried his face in his knees that were pulled to his chest. Too weak. Always so weak. If maybe he was stronger he wouldn't be here, waiting until he rotted away like worthless dirt. Maybe he could have gotten free, found his mother. Perhaps she did really want him... Did he ever miss him? Did he ever matter to her? The corners of Matthews eyes sting with threatening tears once again, but he stopped himself. 

Crying was a sign of weakness. He couldn't cry, not now. He had to be strong for once in his useless life. But he was trapped here. In the darkness with no way out. 

An idea struck him all at once. In the darkness Matthews face hardened. The young boy looked in the general direction he knew that the elderly man was. 

"Hello..?" He called out softly, and there was no response. Matthew crawled along the dirt ground, picking up a rock in his hands that had a slightly sharp edge to it for a weapon as he crept closer. 

Matthew called out again into the void, but there was no response. He waited silently for the sounds of breathing. Nothing. 

He reached out a tentative hand blindly, and felt the ice cold skin of the man, immediately drawing back with a slight gasp. He was dead. Matthew knew this now for certain. He'd seen countless dead slaves, and sometimes the bodies would rot for a few days before someone dealt with it. Again Matthew reached out and took the icy cold shoulder, pulling on it so he heard the body fall on its back. 

From earlier he knew all he wore was a simple rag and no shirt, and Matthew felt for his chest and found it. He would escape. And he was done being weak. 

Matthew raises the rock high, sharp point angled down, and squeezed his eyes shut even though it did nothing. "I'm sorry.." He whispered before bringing the rock down with a wet thump, using all his strength and hearing the sound of cracking bone. 

•*•*• 

Matthew could feel the sticky wet blood on his hands yet it lacked any warmth to the feeling. Tear stains covered his face though, and he found the task wasn't easy. But in his hand he held a rib bone, one from the old man. He felt his way to the door, finding the texture of the wood and found the hole were the lock was. He stuck the bone in and wiggled it around hoping desperately for it to work. 

It took Matthew what seemed like a million years until the door creaked open. It had taken two hours, but somehow he had managed it. 

Matthew felt his heart swelling, there it was. His freedom. It was now lighter outside, in a predawn state so he could just barely see his surroundings. Matthew could smell the fresh air and clutched the bone in his bloodied hands tightly. Free. With that word he looked to his wrist. Black inc and in big letters, permanently on his skin, was a single word and set of numbers. Slave 1892. 

but still Matthew was just a lowly slave, and all the same still supposed to be locked away. Fear began to clutch he heart like a iron vise. Tightening. Squeezing. Painful. Why? Why was he still so afraid? Powerless? 

The reason, he realized as his eyes went to a large building that was surrounded by serene farmland where the servants worked milling his spices, was the man who had thrown him into that cell in the first place. 

The sun was just rising, the golden light filtering through the fields marking a new day. And a young, bloody boy ran to a huge house, afraid, angry, and determined to not be weak anymore. To face his fears. To destroy what brought him here.