“Come on!” I yell, tears streaming down my face. I look back at my father. “Get up!” He stares weakly in my direction. He attempts to get up but can’t muster enough strength.

“I’m sorry, my child. I shouldn’t have brought you here. Now you must go on without me.”

“No! I won’t! I’ll never leave!”

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

He barely finishes these words before collapsing further, and staying still, eyes closed.

“NO!” I scream and dive down to his body. I clutch his shirt sleeve and his back. I break down and start howling into him, tears now flowing out of my eyes and dripping on his shirt. My favorite of his shirts. On the back, it reads, “If you’re gonna fight, fight like you’re the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s ark. And brother, it’s starting to rain”, although, the letters have started to fade from years of use. I bury my face in his shirt and cry even harder. Guns are firing in the distance, and an army of people is coming right for me, but I don’t even notice. Well, more likely that I don’t even care. Men start surrounding me, pointing their AK-47s right at me. I still stay there, clutching onto my father. One of them shouts to get up, but I don’t move. They keep trying to get me off of my father, and one even pushing me with the butt of his gun. Eventually, they wrench me off of my father and start to drag me away. I start screaming and kicking and flailing my arms towards my father. I keep screaming until they drag my father away, and I quiet down and just start sobbing, arms still extended towards my dad.

5 years later

I kick around some of the straw laying on the ground, which fell off of my stone bed while I slept. I walk over to the thick iron door and shake the rails. “Hey, I’m awake! Can I get some food?”

“Shut your mouth. If you needed food, we’d give it to you. Now sit down and be quiet.” This response comes from the guard, a man who regularly abuses me.

A scream comes from outside, another victim of these creeps. I peer out of my window, a carefully sized window with bars to make sure I can’t get out. The boy looks around the age I was when I lost my father and was trapped in here. I see his father running a little ways behind the boy until a gunshot rings out. The boy looks back to find a hole in his father’s head. I flinch. That boy didn’t even get to say goodbye as I did. I remember that day, and my father told me to go on without him. I went on alright. Right into a prison, set up by kidnappers. I wonder why it seems like no one ever comes for us. No one ever comes back for us. My thoughts are soon interrupted, as the guard starts barking orders at me.

“Get up. Now. Let's go. You’ve got another appointment with the doc.” I climb to my feet, the stone ground cold on my bare skin. The guard pulls his keys off his belt and they jingle against each other while he unlocks my door. The door swings open and I am immediately grabbed by the arms and a rope is swung and tied around my neck. Another rope gets tied around my arms. I don’t even bother turning around at the guard to see that he has me on a leash. I did this the first time and he tugged on my throat and growled at me, telling me to turn around and walk. It’s just easier to go along and not aggravate the guard. I take a few steps into the massive, stone brick hallway, and see all the empty cells to my left. The hallways are completely silent except for the sounds of my bare feet and the guard’s shoes hitting the ground. I walk these paths again that I’ve walked so many times. Right. Left. Straight. Right. Straight. Left. I arrive at the wall, the one where the guard always stops me. He switches the leash between his hands and pulls his keys back out. He looks through his keys until he finds a small silver one. He sticks it in a keyhole and a blinding light floods into my eyes. The wall shifts away with a grinding noise that puts me on the ground. I’m balled up on the ground, holding my knees to my chest, and crying from the overwhelming feeling my senses are giving off. Ugh, bad memories. This happened the first time. Now I just cover my ears and close my eyes until I am adjusted to the light and the wall stops moving. Inside is a bed, with blue sheets, and loads of complicated machines. It looks like a hospital room, just with even more equipment, that hangs over where a head would lay on the bed. A man is inside, wearing a lab coat looking suit. He sits me down and pulls out a syringe. He doesn’t say anything, as I have done this countless times. He puts the needle in my arm, and I immediately feel drowsy. Before I know it, I have passed out. I have no idea what happens now, just that I am in a dream. It’s my mom. She is vacuuming our house, and I wonder if that is current. She looks the same as I remember her, except she has a few more wrinkles and gray hairs. She calls out to someone.

“John, let’s go!” That name. John. It sounds so familiar. Almost like it’s my name. A boy about my age walks out from a hallway and hugs my mother. His face looks exactly like mine, except older. I get chills just looking at him.  The dream fades away into a room of darkness. An old, withered face stares me down, the only thing I can see. This new face studies me. Then nods. Then there’s the sound of a pencil check-marking some paper. This face disappears into the darkness. The floor then slides out from under me and I lose my balance. Soon I am falling headfirst into a bunch of bricks. Then I land. But it is soft. I get up and open my eyes. I landed in a haystack. I go to get out, but before I can, my eyes snap open and I’m back in the real world. The sheets are sticking to me from all the sweat I produced. My face is sore, and the doctor is gone. The guard motions for me to get up, and I do so. He puts the leash back on my neck and ties my arms up. I get to walking, and I feel nauseous as I walk. I am walking, and the guard gives me a tug. I start to turn my head around to see why, but My shoulders and head run into the wall ahead. Wait, that’s the floor. I collapsed. Next thing I know, I am on my stone bed again. I attempt to get up, but bruises and other pains everywhere stop me. I think I might have broken a rib. I must’ve passed out. I try once again to get up, this time using the wall to lean on. I move over to my cell door, and nearly puke. I start groaning, unable to actually talk. I finally muster enough strength up to say something. “Help..” I finally mutter out. It’s nearly a whisper, a cry for help in the dark. I see a shade of movement on the wall right before I pass out again.