The Wolves and the White Bird

01. The Mouse

A mouse. That's exactly what she felt like as she watched the furry brown critter dash in and out between the bars of her prison cell, scurrying to scrounge up any little morsel of food it could find. A tiny little mouse that was either going to be squashed, eaten by a predator, or die from their short lifespan. All of these options seemed very real for her as she sat in her cell, wasting away the days.

Cora stood up from the cobblestone surface, feeling the dampness of the floor that had seeped in through her dark green cargo pants. Great. Now she was going to be wet all day. The thought frustrated her as she brushed the dirt away from her pants, drying her now wet hands against the back of her white crop top. It was an annoying outfit, but it was all she had. It was surprising she didn't freeze to death at night.

This was the fifth prison cell she had been inside in less than two years, and it was the worst by far. The floor was always wet. There was no heating to warm her up, and the cold always seeped in through the cracks in the building. They didn't even provide her with a mattress. The only thing to be thankful for was the toilet and the sink, which provided at least some dignity and a constant supply of drinking water, although the water was always a suspicious tinge of brown. It was far from the comforts of her last prison cell.

"Grubs up," called the guard as he threw a stale piece of bread between the iron bars, which landed on the wet ground.

"The least you could do is put it on a plate," she mumbled, picking up the now soggy bread that landed in one of the many puddles on the dirty cold floor. She held it at a distance, watching as it dripped slowly back into the puddle on the floor.

"What was that, princess?" said the guard as he rested his bush-like hairy arms through the cell bars.

She perked up, holding the bread at a distance, and forced a fake smile across her face. "Nothing Richard. Or should I call you Dick?"

The guard grunted, pulling his hands away before banging the baton loudly against the iron bars. Cora jumped at the vibrating noise, causing the guard to laugh as he pushed his baton against the dangling pendant light before disappearing down the hallway.

In the five months that she had been there, she knew he did it just to piss her off. It took ages for the light to settle and stop swinging, which caused a nauseous churning in her stomach to watch the flickering light swing back and forth. Back and forth.

Cora paced around the small cell, watching the shadow of the light dance across the floor while chewing on her bread. There wasn't much else to do. Yes, it was disgusting, but she would rather eat soggy bread than starve. It was an odd thing to worry about starving, or keeping herself alive for that matter. Each day brought about the same fate as the last, and her end was drawing ever closer. She pushed the multiple black neoprene bangles up her arm and glimpsed at the tattoo on her wrist.

00041

If someone saw the tattoo from a glance, they would probably think nothing of it. Perhaps a slight curiosity at the number, but it looked nothing out of the ordinary.

But to her, it meant everything.

A distant sound of the far door opening and closing with a bang had her throwing the rest of her bread into the corner of the cell. The mice will eat that later, she thought before moving closer to the bars, placing her hands casually through slits of her cell as she waited for her visitor. The clasp of her bangles clinked against the bars.

Cora was the only one in the dungeons. Occasionally, she would have a cellmate for a day or two before they would disappear, never to be seen again. Whether they were released or killed, she never knew, but she expected the latter.