No Such Thing As Perfect

Jade

The grey halls were silent save for the echo of a man's steel-toed boots against cement and the shallow breathing of the ghost he was pulling along.

A ghost.

That was how Jade described himself. A worn, neglected ghost forgotten by the greater part of the universe. He was barely twenty-one years old, yet the solemn beat of his heart was his only proof that he was still alive, that he hadn't transcended his weary, broken form and become one with the dark concrete walls that had imprisoned him for so long. He hadn't felt alive since –

Jade winced as his escort's grip tightened around his arm. The black leather gloves rubbed against his skin, leaving stinging red marks. "Hurry up." The guard broke the silence, giving Jade's arm a quick tug that caused him to almost lose his balance. The metal cuffs dug into his wrists. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Slowly, he turned his gaze to the wall. The dim lights buzzed and flickered above him, barely illuminating the hunched-over ghost of his shadow creeping along the grey wall. Sometimes he thought he could hear it whispering, reminding him of what he used to be, showing him what he was now. Sometimes he thought he was losing his mind in this place.

He reached out with one hand, fingers stretching to feel along the cold wall as he walked. The guard's strong grip around his arm didn't allow for much movement, but he could feel the tension loosen just enough for his hand to touch the cement. Jade let his fingers traverse the wall, pressing them into the few rough imperfections in the otherwise smooth cement. Maybe the guard felt a twinge of pity for the prisoner he was escorting. Maybe he thought this half-dead ghost wasn't quite right in the head anymore, and maybe it was true. Was he still sane? Jade himself wasn't sure of the right answer. The metal cut into his wrists as he ran his fingers along the wall, but he ignored the pain. One more bruise wouldn't hurt any more than the ones that already marked his skin.

In the first months of his imprisonment, when he was taken from his cell he would struggle against his escort. A fist to the chin, a kick to the shin, a shove to the back. Then he would run, turning down one hall and another, pushing doors open, searching for a way out as the shouting and footsteps drew nearer to him until he was caught like a fox cornered by hounds. He had quickly learned that in this prison, there was everywhere to run and nowhere to escape. The corridors looked the same. Cold, grey, never ending. Every hall led to another hall. Every door led to a windowless room with no way out. The very last time he had escaped his escort, he ran until he lost his last ounce of strength and collapsed on the unforgiving cement. Scraped palms reached to paw at the hopeless tears etching their way down his face, cuffs digging into his wrists until they bruised and bled. He'd tried to pick himself up, stumbled, and given up. Eventually a guard found him. Gloved hands had gripped his throat, dragging him to his feet and pressing him against the wall. A voice colder than the cement had taunted him, threatened him. He'd choked back sobs until the hands finally left his throat. Somehow he'd found the strength to move again. Somehow his shaking legs had carried him through the lonely halls, past row after row of doors until guard and ghost returned to the cell.

Jade didn't run now. He didn't cry either, not after that final time. Tears fixed nothing, he'd learned. They didn't have hands to rebuild what had broken inside him. They couldn't bring back the dead. They couldn't change what had happened to him. He couldn't feel the cold anymore either. It had sank through his sleeves and skin a long time ago. Ice ran in his veins now.

"You could save yourself a lot of trouble," the guard muttered, breaking the silence again. "If you told us everything y'know."

A small rough edge in the cement wall nicked one of Jade's fingers. He gritted his teeth and pulled away from the wall, watching the thin trail of blood seep down his finger, curve around his thumb. Blood. Wound. Pulse. A crazed feeling rose inside him, but he pushed it down and kept his voice steady. "I've already told you–"

The guard scoffed. "Everything? Somehow I think you know more'n you're lettin' on."

"Even if I did," Jade mumbled, "What would happen if I decided to tell you everything?" I don't imagine you would just let me walk out of here."

"No. Don't imagine I would."

At least he was honest.

"But the people higher up the chain might," he went on. "If you tell them the whole truth and you're who y'say y'are, there's not much'd keep you here."

"Not much doesn't mean nothing."

The guard didn't bother to conceal his sigh. "One of these days, you'll..." He trailed off, coming to a halt in front of a door marked C7. He twisted the knob and the door swung open. Six pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. A woman stood up from the console in the middle of the room. White strands shone in her jet black hair, matching the pattern of her slim monochrome dress. Her deep red lips curved in an impish smile. Step into my parlor, Jade had thought the first time he had seen that smile. She was a spider, a black widow, ready to strike at any moment. She feasted on the pain of her victims, and her hunger could never be satisfied. Not until she had what she wanted. And what she wanted from Jade was something he could never give.

"Hello, Jade. Have any new information you'd like to share with us?" Before the woman's voice cut the silence, he knew what she would say. It was always the same greeting. Still, the poisoned silkiness in her tone never failed to send a chill up his bones.

A guard standing near the woman removed a pair of black gloves from his belt and slowly pulled them over his hands, tucking them into his sleeves. Jade swallowed hard as his eyes wandered to the chains suspended from the ceiling. Every week for three years he had been brought to this room. Every time he felt the hot metal wrapped around his wrists, the burn of electricity shuddering through his body with every wrong answer.

"No." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the word echoed through the room. The walls collected his words, his whispers, his screams, mixed them indifferently with the cold concrete. He lowered his gaze to the floor. It had broken his fall and his ribs too many times to count. There was nothing kind about this place.

"I already told you everything."

The spider heaved a dramatic sigh. "I wish you wouldn't lie to me, Jade."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. He was taller than anyone in the room, yet he felt small under her gaze. Don't. Please. Don't let them know. I want you to be safe. The voice whispered in his mind. His lips curved in an odd smile, confident, joyless.

"And I wish you wouldn't constantly interrogate me and lock me in a windowless six by eight foot room every day. At least give me a room with a view." It was supposed to sound like a joke, but his smile was cold. "But then, you and I both know we can't all get what we wish for."

Three years had passed since he'd last seen the sky, and all hope of ever seeing the sun again was gone. He had come to accept the fact that he would never take another breath of fresh air. He would never again dig his toes into the warm dirt, let the grass tickle his feet. He would never hear his mother call out for him to be careful as he reached for a branch, feeling its rough bark dig into his palms as he climbed high into the trees to see the city that stretched far beyond his home.

But he knew what he would do. He would wake, eat, sleep and repeat in this cold grey prison. He would walk the halls beside his ghost day after day, looking in vain for a way to escape. He would be tormented by the people who had made him feel welcome, then trapped him in their lair and took away any hope he once had. He would merely exist in this skin and bones body that existed in the bleak hallways of this prison.

And one day, he would finally find some peace and he would die.