Edsake

Edwin took in a deep breath as she leaned against the stone wall, the small gap between the door and the floor had been carefully sealed the night before and the fear of running out of oxygen tortured her mind the most. They hadn’t fed her for two weeks or so, she couldn’t remember exactly when was it that the guard had last dropped by. The date was altogether unknown to her. Might have been Monday or Wednesday, perhaps Sunday, no way to find out for she had lost count long ago. So long it might as well have been a different century, a new, still same crappy one, in which days had no name and time could be easily distorted by a mere blow of the lightest breeze. The only thing she knew certainly by then was that she’d been starving for what seemed an eternity, if not two. The only difference was that now she didn’t even care.
No mattered what, whenever her smart sickeningly-proud eyes opened, wherever she looked, nothing but darkness could be seen. The vision, though as mere contradiction, was terrifying. So terrifying it got on your nerves and made you want to cry in despair.
Which of course, overrated rebel self forbid her to do.
She wouldn’t give up. Or at least she wouldn’t show it to them, she wouldn’t bliss them with the joy of thinking they had won, not for a second, not even if she was awarded with long lost freedom.
Hope is said to be the last thing you lose, but then again that’s only one of the thousand make-believes people tell themselves in a desperate attempt to keep fear away. No. The very last thing you lose is mental sanity. After that’s gone, only then will one experience hell or heaven. The next step lies beyond limits of knowledge. It had taken her twenty years the least to realize that, she could tell because of the way she’d changed, the length of her hair and the sudden but counted removal of putrid stiffs the guards had to deal with occasionally.
“Stink-Stank-Stunk.” She began. The mere thought of it made her want to throw up. She was not the hardcore youth she pretended to be. What’s more, she’d never been. Yet she remembered a someone telling her that only through admitting defeat she’d be defeated. And not only was the will of a non-defeated what kept her from breakdown, but also the refusal to disappoint that someone. Whoever had said such words had indeed been someone she’d cherished perhaps quite as much as a sibling, and thus wouldn’t stand for disapproval. Even if someone was dead already.
A sudden growl of the empty stomach managed to bring her back to reality and she began walking back and forth slowly at first, then faster and faster until she found herself dashing against the walls whilst singing out of tune.

I like to eat, eat, eat apples and bananas
I like to ate, ate, ate ay-ples and ba-nay-nays

She could hear a man yelling shut up, and went on louder just to annoy him.

I like to eat, eat, eat ee-ples and bee-nee-nees
I like to ite, ite, ite i-ples and by-ny-ny
I like to ote, ote, ote oh-ples and bo-no-nos
I like to oot, oot, oot oo-ples and boo-noo-noos

“Hey Shut up!” a guard called from outside banging on the door. Edwin’s wrath grew stronger as she yelled back and banged on the door as well.
“I’m HUNGRY!”
“I’m warning you, shut up or I’ll see you starve there to death!”
And so she started again

Death death death
Here comes a candle to light you to bed
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head
Chip chop chip chop the last man's HEAD!

Door sprang open and Edwin was thrown backwards, a hand reached down to grab her throat and lifted her with inhuman rage. She didn’t see much of it, for the blinding light glittering coming from the door ajar forced her to shut the eyes, but she didn’t really need to; pain was more then enough for her to know she was being given a gross walloping.
It wasn’t the first time. She’d had two warnings that same day, and should’ve assumed there wouldn’t be a third one.

Edwin had had a chance to escape once. The republican were going to hold a party in the late evening (at least she’d heard some comments about the greatest party ever.) All the guards had been asked to the public square and were awaiting for the arrival of someone they’d refer to by the name of The Leader: the cellar aisles were empty, and the guard had been in such a hurry he’d forgotten to lock the door after feeding her a loaf of bread and some odd kind of stew she’d never wished to try. Right there before her eyes was the only possibility to survive. And yet, she doubted. Had she been caught in fleeing Republican would have tortured her to death. And aged fifteen as she was twenty years ago she was, indeed, scared. So scared she had not had the will to go through that opened door; instead she’d curled up like a cat in a dark corner and sobbed until it was morning again, and the door had been locked. Cursing had begun when she realized she would remain there for the rest of her life. And neurosis as well.

The guard was finally done with lashing her out and was now about to leave. A sudden unrestrainable rage took hold of her when their eyes met, and as soon as he turned back he could sense a leap along with a foaming shriek. He wasn’t fast enough, though, as ten rickety fingers clamped the cheeks and violently wrenched the neck backwards with a sharp sudden pull. Yet not eased by that, reluctant psycho searched for a knife into the soldier’s clothing and repeatedly stabbed the corpse until bowels turned into mince and blood like a river ran all over the corridor. Head was removed with a snap stroke as the dim melody started to rumble in between the dungeon walls.

Death death death
Here comes a candle to light you to bed
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head
Chip-chop-chip-chop the last man's head
***

Douglas saw Frayman’s shade standing still by the dungeon aisle. He called his name once, twice, yet no response, so he approached, wondering what it was that seemed so strange about the way his newest friend was holding his lance. He stopped when he felt something wet under his feet, and looked up in shock.
Frayman wasn’t actually holding his lance. It had been buried deep between the chest and the stomach, digging its way into the side of a wooden door. A head that wasn’t his had been pierced in the opposite extreme.
“Shit” was all he managed to mutter right before turning back, wildly shivering with fear. He was not alone.
—What the heck is that?—stammered another voice, a fellow soldier quite much as bewildered as he himself was. Relieved, Douglas took a deep breath and redirected a grim look. The crimson trail leaded them into Cell nine, and they walked in. It was open.
And empty.