Gilded Truth

Eye of the Storm

The trickling of the rain echoes as it collides with the metal roof above you. You are stuck in a dark room, stripped of your belongings, and you have nothing but undergarments and garb. You have nothing in your being but yourself, prisoned in a hollow box with nothing but a bed and a solid metal table.

You count how many times the trickling rain falls on the roof, every second that passes by as if you have a built-in clock in your mind ticking like a time bomb before your insanity slips into your mind. The room is cold and dark, ominous and eerie as if in every corner, there would be something that would emerge from the shadows. You know that the howling wind outside dances with the leaves of trees. You twiddle with your thumb as time passes by till you lose track of time.

The storm outside is raging, and you're wondering if the floods will reach the box you are in and devour you till you drown. You wait . . . and wait . . . and wait—grueling hours of waiting but no water reaches you, only the loud clattering of heavy metal of the door opening. Guards bring your food in a metal tray, but you ask if it is even edible. It's as if a combination of wild leaves were steamed and put in a broth with hard rock bread on its side. You know you're famished but never dare lift the spoon in fear of being poisoned. You can never trust anyone except yourself.

You continue to count every second into minutes, minutes marching to hours, hours growing to days, and days prolonging to weeks. Loneliness permeates around you and you grow accustomed to your friends lurking in the shadows. Your sanity barely holds on to nothing but a faint sliver of light.

And the storm ends.

There are no floods that drowned you, no winds that uprooted you from where you are, no more torrential rains, only the rainbow by the end of the storm—the last sliver of light you're holding on to.

–Alethea