Distorted World, Book 1: Uprising

Preface

Here we go again, I muttered as the familiar wave of nausea and pain washed over me, clouding my thoughts.

I pressed on the spot on my arm two inches from my wrist, and the queasiness somehow subsided. That was the only way to 'treat' nausea in the dungeons. Here, there's no medicine whatsoever, and the filthiness is indescribable. For some reason, everyone who gets dumped here falls sick the next day. When that happens, two out of three die, and the one who lives becomes a skeleton covered with peeling skin. That's how it is. I'm considered lucky, having survived for a week so far.

At the day I was sentenced to a month of jail, I thought it wasn't a big deal. But now I know how terrible it is. Just seven days went by and I was totally sick of this place. Not because of the filthiness, but because this place is no better than a madhouse. Every day, I wake up only to see those pale, haggard bodies with soulless eyes, muttering inconsistent words over and over, going around with their daily routines like machines. Every day, I live in fear that the next day I will turn into one of them.

Yet my efforts to stay sane were faltering as the madness slowly got to my mind. For these two days or so, I found it harder to think properly. My mind felt clouded by some fog I couldn't understand. Sometimes I would just give up on thinking, but the repetitive grumbling and screeching from the other prisoners would flood my mind, driving me crazy. Then, I would retreat to the the depths of my mind and cry myself to sleep.

Crouching in my tiny cell, I stared longingly at the steel bars overhead. I struggled to keep my eyes open, trying to distract myself by imagining the sight of the clear, blue sky.

But I couldn't. There was absolutely nothing but a grey slab outside the window.

I sighed and looked down. I was disgusted at myself. My clothes were pungent and dirty with sweat, and my skin itched with scabs and rashes all over. I couldn't believe my eyes. This isn't the me that I know. I'm supposed to be prim, proper, and swift. Not a filthy prisoner that's left to rot.

I hate this. I hate my luck. I hate the person that I'm forced to be.

How I wish I could be myself again. But the marks on the grimy wall tell me that I'll have to wait for another three weeks. Or more.

I wished I could end my suffering here and now. If I want to, I could just lick up all the mould and dirt around me, and I would die from my illness like the others. Then I would be burnt to ashes, and my soul would be freed, I thought. How nice.

Wait, why am I having those thoughts again?! I slapped my face hard. No. I mustn't think about that!

Get a grip on yourself. Endure. For the people you want to protect. Don't give up. There are only fourteen days to go.

My thoughts rushed back in time. In my head, I relived the wholesome, happy moments with my family. Hizushi. Father. Mother. Yumi. I should be grateful to have such wonderful people as my family. We laughed together. Played together. Celebrated together. Even though later Mother and Yumi moved away, they would still come over once in a while. And that was good.

But then my thoughts hovered forward to the worst day of my life. The day when my world crumbled to nothing, the day when the cocoon shielding me shattered.

The day when my journey began.

The day that led me here