Tombstone ( Completed )

Purgatory......

Arthit's POV-------

The first year was the hardest, perhaps due to the fact that, during this period, I still have the strength to break my bonds. Not moving was a choice...... a choice that I must commit, over and over each and every day.

I think back to the final moments before my imprisonment, frequently, almost incessantly. I was overwhelmed by the emotions of my family. The guilt and regret. The sickness over what they have allowed. The fear that, when I will be out of this prison, I will no longer be who I once was.

In the beginning they decided to stay at our house in Oregon. They took turns watching over me and keeping me company. Noor comes at evening , replaying the day within her mind so that I may add it to my bank of my memories. Through her thoughts I watch My Mother painstakingly trying to get herself busy with household chorese. Inspite being surrounded by hundreds of servants. She turned to look at the doorsteps, over and over again, although she knows I won't be walking inside anymore, I watched her face crumble with such halting sadness when she realises the truth.

My Mother visits in the early hours of the morning, greeting each new gray dawn with stubborn hope. One day gone means, One day less. She does not speak to me, not aloud, but she hums. Sometimes her voice slips into a lullaby, like she is mourning for her child who she lost, too early. She carries her sadness like a cloak. It hang gracefully from her shoulders, sweeping around her as she moves, knotted at her throat and pulled tightly over her heart.

Knott drops in randomly, sometimes with Noor, often times alone in the middle of the day. He does talk out loud. He speaks to me, giving me the highlights of the latest court meetings, sharing news reports of technological innovations and current events. I wonder what the earth will be like when I am released.

Some moments I wish I could speak to him, ask him questions. But if I inhale, all I will taste is metal and stone. If I speak in this echo chamber, the sound of my own voice will drive me insane. If I allow my will to travel beyond the stone barrier, I will want to fight for my freedom. No. This was my choice. I am dead to the world and..... It is dead to me. Like my Mate.

My family comes and goes day after day, but one mind was always present, his hateful thoughts hammering into me with the regularity. William...... sat beneath the trees at the edge of the forest, my stone prison always within his sight.

Sometimes I see my prison from the perspective of some tribal man or woman, the white Tombstone, towering over the small tree My Mother planted alongside it.

The tree glows with every shade of green, symbol of honesty and truth. Its trunk is a symbol of strength, and the evergreen needles are a testament to the enduring nature of our love and bond. It stands as a beacon of hope and a promise of life to come in the spring, once the long dark winter has passed.

I saw.... it is Already taller, it's roots digging deeper.

Cynically, I imagine it falling prey to lightning or a windstorm long before my sentence is done.

A young woman brings food, for my self-appointed warden, every day. Through his eyes I see her blushing and turning away as he smiles at her in greetings and sit with her to eat. His thoughts and emotions change wildly whenever she was near. His fear for her safety battles with his thirst for revenge. His desire to lose himself in the pleasure of watching her...... fights with his need to keep his eyes constantly on my prison.

Seven months after my imprisonment.......

The people of Oregon gather in the cemetery to bury one of their own. An old man died because of heartattack.