In the middle of the floor, in a small, dark room, sat his family. His mother's head was down, her hair covering something dark. He ran over and lifted her face up gently.
Still his mother winced. The entire left side of her face was a bright purple, stained with blood and tears. He hugged her close, careful of her face and her stomach.
She was obviously pregnant. Very pregnant. Anger clenched his fists and teeth. "Who did this to you? Kitler?"
His mother could only nod. "I'm gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch! Next time I see him I'm gonna tear his goddamn leg off and beat him to death with the goddamn bloody end of it!"
His father glared at him. "Now, Taylor. You shouldn't use that sort of language. But, it's nice that you're trying to defend your mother."
He screamed, then looked around the small room for Alisa. She was sitting with her back to the wall, her hands tucked under her. He walked over and sat down next to her.
Without realizing it, he began to sing. He tuned out everything else for a moment. Then, the door to the cell opened and a guard stepped in.
He looked up and stopped singing. The guard walked into the room, a baseball bat in hand. He raised it above his head. "You sing, you get hurt."
The guard brought the bat down, but it hit only air and then the wall. Taylor had moved quickly and was now behind the guard.
The guard swung around with the bat. He ducked. The guard growled, and threw the bat behind him, not caring that he hit his sister, Jessie, in the shoulder causing her to collapse in pain. He decided that he had had quite enough of this.
He threw all of his weight and worth into a punch aimed for the jaw of the guard. It connected perfectly. The guard stumbled, giving him his true chance.
He got the guy in a decent headlock, then found the pressure point underneath his jaw. He backed away a little bit and pushed that point with all of the energy he had.
That pressure point being pushed could do a lot of neat things. It could cut off your air supply, make you gag, or even knock you unconscious. And this time, it had worked to knock the guard unconscious.
Quickly thinking, he grabbed the gun and a set of keys off the guard and hid them underneath his jacket in the corner of the room. But now what?
He had escaped being hurt, but he had hurt someone else. Even if he managed to get out, this place probably had electronic surveillance. Kitler's men would be all over him as soon as he walked out of the room.
He breathed a sigh of nervous relief and anticipation of what might happen next. Then he sat back down next to Alisa.
No words were spoken. No one knew what to say. They were disappointed that he had used such violence, but they were also proud. Now, what to do about the guard?
It was the next day and the guard was now gone. Two other guards had dragged him away at about 3AM. He had still been unconscious. Right?
He knew that what he had done had never killed anyone before, but maybe in his mind he had wanted the guy dead, and if you want something enough.....
He shook the thought away. All his life, things had gone the way he thought they would, but not always the way he wanted them to.
The door opened. A large tray of a rather awful looking meal was brought in and placed in the middle of the floor without a word. Though he didn't feel very hungry, he swallowed what he could, not knowing when food would come again.
Alisa was leaned against him, asleep. He stared at her, not quite sure of the emotions he felt for her. Love? No. Lust? Yeah.
He wanted desparately to run his tongue all over her. To feel her flesh in a forbidden way.
He closed his eyes. "Control."
Alisa stirred in her sleep, her hand coming to rest just where he wanted it. "Control."
She stirred again, moving her hand back to her side. He let out a shaky breath. It would be a long night.
The next day at about 5AM, a loud buzzing noise awoke him. Then a voice. Kitler. "Everyone up. Your guards will bring you outside. Roll call."
The first thing he did was rush over to his youngest siblings. "If they tell you to stand still, do it. Don't move at all if you can help it."
Avery looked up at him. "Why, Tay?"
He hugged her close. "These are bad men playing a bad game. And, maybe you don't wanna play, but you have to, and you have to play by their rules. Otherwise, they might try to hurt you. Okay?"
She looked frightened, but she nodded; happy to do what she could.
Once again, the door opened.
He was grateful that friends and family of his were trained in first aid. During roll call, he had a sneezing fit. Because of it, they had beaten him.
Here he was. The wear was beginning to show on his face. Blood still stained his hair. Fear was still the expression in his eyes. He only hoped it would all end soon.
His breaths echoed short and shallow in the silence. His eyes were closed to keep out the harsh light that filtered in from the room's one window which was complete with steel bars.
Then he felt lips. On his forehead. Soothing. He opened his eyes. Alisa. He smiled and reclosed his eyes. He would not awake again until night fell.
Somewhere in the room, a cricket chirped, oblivious to the pain he was in. He scooted up the wall a bit and looked once again at Alisa. His thoughts ran rampant. "So sweet. Innocent. If Kitler lays a finger on her. If any of those guards.....I'll...."
His thoughts wandered off. Outside, the wind was beginning to blow. There was no actual window. Only a hole sealed with bars. The room would be cold soon. He hated cold. No. He heavily disliked it. Right now, all of his hate was reserved for this place, these guards, but mostly for Kitler.
So he thought something up. An activity. He would watch people's dreams. Possibly fiddle with them. He could do that. He'd always been able to. He was a Pisces.
First, Zac. Purple Martians, orange bananas, green bunnies. They were all doing the polka. Zac was playing the accordian for them, and, for some reason, three unidentifiable women were dancing around in liederhosen.
Next, Isaac. A harem belly-danced around and people fanned him with large feathers. One of the belly-dancers was about to....Ugh! He quickly got out of Isaac's dream in favor of one he thought would be a little less, well, ugh.
Alisa. She seemed so at peace, but her dream revealed otherwise. The angels made it so.
The ground in her dream burned fiery red and the sky was pitch black. Bodies littered the ground, charred beyond belief. Alisa herself was slaving away in a blackened robe to drag away the bodies.
She threw the bodies in a deep pit and wails were heard. Then from the pit floated angels. White as possible. Wings of silver. Harps of gold.
They went up above the flames and began to play their harps. All the while, they sneered upon Alisa. They scorned her and her small frame was soon wrenched with sobs. She threw herself into the pit and floated up as an angel. Black as possible. Blood red wings. Charcoal gray harp.
The other angels shunned her more. More sobs. He left the dream.
He cuddled up next to Alisa, hoping that his dreams would be of her. That way, they would be perfect. So perfect.
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