Broken

Checkmate

Who is he? Why does he have my last name? As tears cloud his eyes, I want to laugh. Is this really happening? Have I almost been devoured by Savages, saved by Nomads, and met someone who has my last name? Can I wake up to being ridiculed by society for my curiosity, for my questioning, and for not being able to conform?

Life is a cat and mouse game. Sometimes you are the cat and a times you are the mouse. I am cornered into a mouse trap. My partner has me in a convenient checkmate. I seemingly cannot escape from reality without becoming insane. Death has me within its grips and the only way I can get help is to become the pawn of the other team. I take the helping hand knowing I will never be able to leave from this side. If I do, I die.

Clayton leaves the room after a few minutes of silence. I am thankful, for I have just sold my life to the Nomads. Sold it to live. I try getting up once again and this time I am successful. I limp all the way to the end of the room. Where am I? Where have they taken me? I rest my head on a wall that is chipping everywhere.

What will become of me? Why do  I have so many questions that I have no answers to? The answer may not be there. I may never know the answer. I have to face reality and figure  out how to survive. This is just one of the breaths I have to take to keep breathing.

I sigh lift my head up and my stomach growls. I sigh. I reach the door and try turn the handle. It is locked. Do they not trust me? Would I trust myself? No, of course not. I would not be able to trust myself in this situation. I sit against the wall chipped wall, frustrated. Why must my life have so many pieces to a puzzle that are not able to fit together?

I examine my arm that was stabbed. In the deepest part of the cut looks as if it will not be able to repair itself without medical attention. Why I could not agree with the society? Dohean had protected me in every aspect of life. I was fed, clothed, sheltered, and protected. How many have had this fate? How many have died or become remnants of themselves? Becoming beasts that have no soul. Their souls eroding away with everyone they kill for their own benefit.

Food becoming your whole life. Addicted to the feeling of satisfaction with your very being. The more you kill to survive, the better you feel. Will I ever reach this point? To the point you cannot look at yourself in the mirror without shivering. Maybe you never get to see yourself, after the fact.

I try remembering the faces of the Nomads. Were they better than those Savages? Were they more human because of the contact with others? I laugh. No they are not better. They are as broken as the Savages. They seem more human because they have to keep face for the others. Savages have no one but themselves.