Reviving the Truth

Chapter two: What's your name?

I awake to the smell off ruined eggs and burnt bacon.

Oh great, I guess that's our breakfast.

The plate contains two boiled eggs that look like they are a year old, and four pieces of bacon.

How generous! Yeah, right.

I reach over to grab the plate, planning for us to split the bacon- two for me, two for him.

"Whatever you do," he says," Don't eat the eggs."

I take it he's learned from experience.

"Ok, trust me, I won't."

I grab the two pieces of bacon closest to me and hand the rest to him.

Him. What's his name?

He takes the bacon and breaks each piece in half, saving some for later.

I do the same.

After all, he's the one who's been in here for who knows how long.

I could learn a thing or two from him.

Realization hits me like a grenade.

I may never see another human being besides him, or these soldiers, who I don't think even deserve the title of human being, for the rest of my life. But I can't let that happen, I won't. I haven't lost all hope yet. There has to be some way out of here right? I wonder if he has tried to. How many failed attempts until they get fed up with you? Maybe that's how he got that scar on his lip.

What will my future be here? Will I spend everyday dreaming of memories, staring at the clock, and eating burnt bacon? I've always had my life planned out for me. I'd become a teacher once I finished school, and I'd only had to years left. Of course there's other jobs like artists- they make their living off of their paintings, and some make good money, if they're good, that is. There's maids too. Some of them make a pretty good deal of money, but few have enough to raise a family. If they work for the extremely wealthy, the ones who are generous provide the maids with plenty money. Some women choose to become farmers, if they didn't have enough money to afford proper education to become a teacher. Farmers make a fair amount of money by selling their crops to other families. Most of the wealthy don't work. They earn their money by gambling, something my "mother" didn't agree with. 'Gambling for money is no better than gambling for your own life,' she'd say. I agree, I guess. You shouldn't be dependent upon luck and skill to get you through llife. I wonder if that'd be different if I were one of the wealthy. It's not like we were poor, though. We had enough money to afford a few luxuries and never went a day without food on the table at dinner time.

Last night I dreamt of a memory of my family. My real family. We were all together walking in a field filled to the brim with colorful flowers and plants. I followed behind my parents as they whispered to each other, thinking I wasn't listening. But I was.

"We don't have much time left," whispered my mother and glanced back at me as I was blowing on a dandelion.

"I know, Hayley, but there's nothing we can do. You saw what happened to John and Linda's child. What they did got her killed. We can't let that happen to Bonny." He placed his hand on her soldier to comfort her.

"I know, Thomas. I just can't stand the thought of losing her," my mother said as tears she'd been holding spilled down her face. She wiped them away quickly, hoping I hadn't saw. But it was too late. I did.

I ran over to my mother, afraid something had happened, and confused by her crying. "Why are you crying, Momma?" I asked and sat on her knee. She pushed my hair back behind my ear and smiled gently.