His Fake Queen

CHAPTER 1 The cell is dark and congested. It is so dark that I cannot even make out the outline of the person standing right infront of me. It is so congested that I cannot even breathe properly. It is so dark that sometimes it feels as if I have lost my eyesight. It is so congested that I think that I am going to lose consciousness any moment now. I hate being here. I hate the horrible smell of piss and sweat. I hate that I have now gotten used to this smell and that it stopped bothering me a little while after the door opened for the fifty-second time. I hate the occasional sounds of whimpers that come from all over this cell. I hate that these cries make it a little easier for me to accept my situation. ‘I am not alone. I am not the only one who is suffering right now. I am not the only one who is dying.’ It feels like they are torturing us on purpose. It feels like they are trying their best to strip our humanity away from us by locking us in a small room with no access to light or even basic necessities like a toilet or something refreshing like a bath or a shower. It feels like whatever sorts of tricks they want to play with our minds are working. A loud clang silenced everyone. The door had opened. This has happened before. Ninety-nine times to be exact, if you want to count the time I was placed in here too. But it had been a long time since it had last opened. With every passing second, it is getting more difficult for me to breathe. ‘I hope that they move us to a bigger room. Maybe it’s food? I hope it’s more than usual.’ I haven't eaten anything in what feels like days. It could have been a couple of hours since the door last opened; the dark makes it difficult to judge time. It is pointless to wish for freedom; I would have hoped for something like this a long time ago. I did wish for this a long time ago. I was the first one to be put in this room. I don’t even remember what had happened after I had been arrested; most probably due to adrenaline and fear–not just for me but also for my mother. Even the mere thought of that sweet soul trying to spend her time alone, or worse, in a condition like mine, made my heart drop into a hollow pit of my stomach. She had already suffered a lot. ‘Is she safe? Did they take her too? I hope that she is not rotting away in a small room like I am.’ The first time the door had opened after I had been placed here, hope had filled my heart and tears of relief had gathered in my eyes. After all, I had spent all of my time trying to think of all the possible ways to escape if they opened the doors– Then the door got shut again. They had barely opened it and all I had managed to see were the grey shadows of a couple people and a slight glimpse of something red. Then it was dark again. I quickly sprung to my feet and ran towards the door, screaming at nothing in particular, only stopping once I could not manage to let out any sound from my throat. Only then did I realise that there was someone else in the room too. It was another girl. Her name was Mary. I told her that mine was Elise. We didn’t talk much after that but it was clear that none of us were here on our free will. I also discovered that they had left a small amount of food wrapped in plastic while Mary was literally flung inside the cell. After a while, the doors opened again. Hope once again filled my chest but the doors closed again before I could even get to my feet; fatigue and fear had weakened me to the point that I blanked out the moment I had straightened myself. When I came about, I was lying on the cold concrete floor while someone near me was screaming like a mad woman. It was another girl named Amara. Even now, as a few newcomers buzzed with anticipation, most of us watched in detachment (at least I was doing so) as small streaks of white light seeped into the room. As the intensity of the light increased, my eyes squinted a little more. Cool air entered the hot and humid room and I involuntarily took in a long breath. Not a single sound could be heard in the room. Not even that of someone breathing, as the door opened. I waited for the screams and cries of the hundredth cellmate. I waited for the door to close for the hundredth time. We all waited. I did not want to get my hopes high. I did not want to be disappointed again. But despite my best efforts, I felt my heart race. My chest felt stuffy and I felt something wet roll down on my face. I hadn’t cried for a long time. Not since the twentieth girl had been brought in. In great confusion and disbelief, I took in the scene in front of me. The door had opened completely for a hundredth time.