Three thousand and eleven days, it's been. Three thousand and eleven days since I was plunged into darkness. Three thousand and eleven days of no sounds but for my breaths, the guard's boots, and the occasional crunch of cement meeting knuckle.
Or at least, I think it's been three thousand and eleven days. Three thousand and eleven meals I've had brought to me - that much I knew. Three thousand and eleven stale bread rolls. Three thousand and eleven bitter mashed potatoes.
Nine hundred and forty-six pieces of mangled leather they called meat.
I stare at the door, its edges lined with rails of bright light. Every now and then, the light flickers, and I can almost feel the breeze brushing the trees, its shadows dancing in the moonlight across the mossy floor. But the sound of footsteps prevails my imagination and I am again in the cell, shamefully romanticizing a guard's passing shadow.
Three thousand and eleven restless, freezing sleeps. Before here, the cold had never bothered me much - though that's easy to say when I had more than rags to cover me. I had always enjoyed winter and its serenity. The trees are bare, their branches bone-like; and the skies are quiet, empty. There's an eeriness to it, I won't deny. But I know that the animals, and even the trees themselves, are merely asleep. Beneath rocks, hidden in trunks, or burrowed in the ground, the earth sleeps; hibernating, regenerating.
Sometimes I tell myself that's what this is; hibernation. I'm restoring my energy, building up my nutrients and resources for the flowers I'll bloom in Promrera, enveloping the earth in pollen and seedlings, restoring the land.
But then the walls weep with a black ooze, smelling of what I can only describe as death, and the ruse becomes too hard for even me to continue.
Three thousand and eleven days. How many more awaited me here? I wondered, not for the first time. Not because I thought I would escape this place. Eight hundred and eleven days I had believed I would get out eventually. Another hundred and four before I gave up hope entirely and began collecting and braiding mangled leather and fashioning them into a rope so that when I did eventually leave this place, it would be my choice.
That choice was shortly taken from me.
I lie on an area of cement I consider my sleeping quarters, and stare up at the ceiling.
I am grateful for the darkness. Sometimes the night is more alive than the day, bringing life to our subconscious, dreams and imagination. When I stare long enough at the ceiling, and my eyes struggle to stay focused in the lack of light, I see colours - green, red, blue and white - and I see shapes, flashing speckles, like stars, or lines and flashes, dancing like the motions of a rogue leaf hitching a ride on the wind.
I start to make out the sturdy figure of a tree in the grey, shaped by the billions of flashing specks that swell and then retreat, as if it were breathing. I make out the familiar curves of its branches, its trunk that had forked at the base, and then changed its mind, intertwining back together. I can almost see the carefully placed boulders surrounding its roots when the crunch of bone meeting bone awakens me.
I leap up, digging my feet into the cement for balance, fists ready. I stare at the glowing rectangle and strain my ears, but no sound awaits me. It's silent, perhaps more silent than before.
But I know what I heard.
Minutes pass, I think. I have not moved, my muscles still tensed, albeit a little less, yet not even so much as the flicker of a passing shadow greets me. I am alone. I've been alone for three thousand and eleven days. And yet, I am overwhelmed with disappointment. For what, I am not sure.
I will never see the sun again in this life, and I've long accepted that. Still, three thousand and eleven days of endless grey, rancid seepage, stale bread, bitter potato, and the occasional tapping of footsteps. The boredom; the nothing. But I suppose I ought to just be glad my daily regime didn't comprise of scalpels and examinations.
I sigh, sliding my back down the wall until I came to a seated position on the cold floor. I tear my eyes away from the glowing grey box and drop my face into my hands. I must have dozen off because I am woken by the sound of my next meal.
The shutter on my door rattles and clanks as it is unlocked from the outside. A rectangular hole smaller than my forearm emerges and I already have my eyes shielded with my hand when the light pours in.
"Three thousand and twelve," I whisper.
I wait for the clank of my meal tray making contact with the ground and for the light to disappear as it quickly as it came, returning me to the darkness. But the sound doesn't come, and the light doesn't fade.
I dare to look at the door, my retinas burning as I try to see through the blinding light. I push through the tears that come, sensitive after so many of years of captivity.
"Hello?" I call out to the light, almost startling myself by the sound of my own voice.
I shuffle a little closer, leaning on my knees.
"He-" I begin again, when a booming crash sounds and I am flooded with an ocean of light. I am sent toppling backwards, attempting to shield both my eyes and ears as I collide with the wall. It takes me a moment to recover from the shock, and my shoulder throbs where it hit with the wall.
I force my eyes open as I clamber to my feet, using the wall to guide me. I stare into the doorway, and though my vision is greatly impaired, I distinctly make out the silhouette of a figure.
But not just any figure.
I shucked in a breath. "Was my warning not clear?"
"Grudges were always your strong suit," the figure said as she stepped into the room. I could see her clearly now. Dressed in her black jumpsuit and her hooded cape made from the feathers of her deceased murder, she appeared almost exactly as I remember her.
"You've aged," I smirk.
The Crow travels her eyes up my body and reciprocates my expression. "You're one to talk."
I peer down at myself, and my limbs now visible in the light, and the frayed fabric remaining, exposing half my chest and entire abdomen to the musty air.
Without thinking, I roll my fingers into a fist and throw it at the Crow. She blocks it with her arm and uses her other hand to send a blow to my stomach.
I gasp and hunch over in pain, fighting to retrieve the air that escaped me. It's been a while.
As I catch my breath, the Crow uses it as an opportunity to explain. "It's gotten worse," she says, her voice stern. "The forest needs you."
"I told you," I groaned, still holding my stomach.
The Crow sighs and steps outside the remnants of the door. "This is your last and only chance."
I stand up straight and glare at her. She had betrayed me.
"We were sisters."
"You had gone mad."
I peer around the grey cell, my years here a complete stupor, and wondered where the guards were.
I turn back to the Crow and consider throwing another punch and fleeing but knew that combat was always her strong suit and we were too far from the surface for my abilities to be any good.
What choice do I have?
I nod and follow the Crow out the doorway. As I step out into the large grey room with tall windowless walls, empty but for the dead guard, The Crow hands me a pile of fabric. I take the offering and find comfort from the fabric of my dress, weaved from the fauna of my home and dyed black.
I remove the rags and throw the dress over my frail body, gliding my hands over the draping sleeves, relishing in the feeling of home.
"Magissa," the crow whispers.
"Thank you," I find myself saying.
She smiles at me and I saw now the faint wrinkles tracing from her eyes. My time in the cell had been spent romanticizing this moment when I would finally be given the opportunity to say, "I told you so."
In my imagination, however, it had been followed by her strangulation.
But that desire has seemed to have left now as I look at her with almost a decade added to her appearance and feel a sense of regret for the time passed.
Sensing my change of heart, she nudges my shoulder with her knuckle. "Come on," she says, and begins for an elevator.
"Where are the rest of the guards?" I ask when the lift begins its ascend up twenty floors.
The Crow shrugs. "Dead I presume."
Before I can ask how, or why, the elevator stops and the Crow wastes no time to exit. I follow the Crow through another grey, windowless corridor, before she makes a sharp right down a dark tunnel.
The Crow walks slowly, stepping carefully into the darkness. I can see the narrow tunnel stretching for a hundred meters, and what appeared to be ladder at the end, and my heart lifts with hope and excitement I hadn't felt in two thousand and ninety-six days.
I am eager to get to the end of the tunnel, to clasp my fingers around the ladder, and begin to feel frustrated at the Crow's speed, or lack thereof, when I realize. Stifling laughter, I grab the Crow's hand and run down the tunnel, guiding her as she follows me blindly. We reach the ladder and I guide her hand to the rail, gesturing for her to go first. She starts up quickly, her hands and feet in perfect sync. I follow, and minutes pass, I think, when the roof opens up and I am once again blinded by light, only this time I don't mind.
I take a deep breath and step out into sun and warmth, flooded with flashbacks of days by the river, afternoons in the trees, and mornings in the meadow. When the light doesn't feel unbearable, I open my eyes.
I gasp in horror to find what was once luscious greenery, now nothing but red dirt. I collapse to my knees, suddenly feeling weak, and look out at the flat plains and deteriorating trunks of slaughtered trees. I grasp the sand and cry.
"You were right," the Crow says again. "The humans couldn't be trusted."
I am unable to respond, choking at the sight before me.
"They've taken almost everything. There's war for what's left, and they're getting closer."
"Ohia?" I ask, my voice cracking.
"It's all that remains. We need to hurry."
The Crow tilts her head back and lets out a high pitched cackle that fills the air. It is responded to by a loud echo and within seconds, the sky above is filled with black as a murder of crows swarms us.
They claw at The Crow, grasping her cape. She throws a long strap at me as they lift her in the air. I nod and hold up the ends of the fabric like an offering. The crows snatch it quickly in their claws, and I lean into the strap as it is lifted up and, despite all, find myself smiling as we are flown through the air.
The sensation soon disappears as I am able to see far into the horizon and the lack of trees that once dominated the landscape. It is nothing but a waste land now, just as I had known.
Soon enough, a large area of green emerges in the distance. Tears slip from my eyes when I catch the first glimpse of my home that I risked everything to try and protect.
On the outskirts are the remains of freshly cut trees. A stream that had flowed freely through the forest was dry, filled with dirt. Abandoned machinery were tipped on their sides, seeming to have experienced a violent end. Scorch marks dotted the ground where I assumed the bodies had been burnt.
At least a million square miles remained but I knew not for long. From the east, smoke seeped heavily into the sky, reminding me of the ooze that wept into my cell.
As we flew over the treetops, heading for the forest centre, I could hear the restless sounds of birds that told me that it was not a bushfire approaching.
The crows lowered us to the forest floor. I hopped from the makeshift swing, nodded in appreciation to the birds before reaching to the ground. I felt the dry grass in my fingers, gliding my fingers over their bristly spines, and leaned my forehead to the ground. The soil smells rotten, but I try to ignore that as I whisper to it, watching as a tear slips from the bridge of my nose, landing on the brown.
It sends a ripple through the grass, like a wave. The trees shook and the rivers followed suit. I heard the wind grow, bellowing through the leaves, and the inhabitants cawed, chirped, hissed, and howled in response.
"I'm home."
I stand up and step towards the stagnant river, the cracked shore scattered with lifeless fish. It has turned an unhealthily green and the sight makes my heart flinch. I dip my toe in and a gushing sound whispers from faraway. As it approaches, I peer back at the Crow, finding her already smiling with her murder perched on her shoulders, their black eyes soft on me.
Within moments, a torrent of water comes rushing through and the river sweeps past, almost like it used to . As I step proudly away from the water, I notice that the commotion has caught others' attentions. A dozen women now stand in the meadow beside the Crow. Their clothing is similar to mine, shifting from different shades of grey and green.
They are smiling at me, many of their eyes glistening as they approach me with open arms. I am embraced by each of them, along with hearty whispers of, "Welcome home", and, "We're so sorry".
The Crow holds me the longest. I rest my cheek on her shoulder and close my eyes.
Loud mechanical sounds come from the smoke, interrupting our reunion.
The Crow holds both my shoulders tenderly. "We're ready to do it your way this time."
"You won't give me to the humans?"
"Please understand, we thought we were doing what was best."
I inadvertently tense my jaw, and then nod. "I understand," I say. I meant it.
The crows caw and hoist the Crow up, gliding her to the treetops, where she begins to dart across the branches, her balance impeccable.
The rest of the girls follow her from the ground while the birds, squirrels, deer, wolves, lizards, and all other remaining animals followed closely behind.
I close my eyes and focus my energy on the surrounding trees. I feel the deprived connection of their own energy intertwining with my own, and for the first time in three thousand and eleven days, feel whole.
The nearest tree creaks as it bends its trunk, lowering a branch to the floor with a mighty thud. I step on to it, outstretching my arms for balance as I am lifted into the air.
The tree twists and swings its branch to that of another tree. I leap onto another branch, and then another as I am passed through the forest, my army in clear view beneath me.
The mechanical noise grows louder. I almost mistake it for thunder, and my stomach drops when I think I can make out the sound of gunfire.
But I was not afraid.
This was war.