So April’s chatterbox is Resurrection.
This is what I wrote for it.
The cage slowly lowered into the dungeon pit. I was too weak to move or struggle or fight against the bars, so I watched as the light faded around me until it was only a small pinpoint of light high above in the cave ceiling.
Using a cave for a dungeon was the only way to keep prisoners save from the citizens who wished to break them free and to prevent the prisoners from ever escaping. Each prisoner was kept in an iron cage, eight feet square, and lowered into the cave by a chain. No one knew how they were fed, but I guess I would find out soon, now that I was one of them.
My cage bumped into something tipped almost completely over. It swung like a pendulum and I would have screamed if my throat hadn’t already been raw. On it’s return swing, it crashed into something, sending me sprawling into the iron bars. I groaned; my whole body hurt.
The cage settled and I weakly felt outside through the bars. Air. I wasn’t even on the ground. I felt some more. My cage was stacked on top of another one.
I sighed and curled up, trying to find a little bit of warmth in myself.
A deep male voice came from behind me. In normal circumstances I might have screamed and jumped up, but I didn’t want to move.
“Hmm?” I groaned.
“Whatcha in here for?”
“Not conforming.” I mumbled.
“What’d they to ya?”
“Beat me to a pulp.”
“Well, at least they haven’t changed. Nice to know things are consistent.”
Now I did roll over, slowly, painfully, and lay on my back. It didn’t help, there was pitch blackness all around me so I still couldn’t see him.
“You sound cheerful.”
“Best make the best I can out of the situation.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know there was any best left.”
“It’s all in your way of thinking.”
I moved closer to the bars and reached toward his voice. A few inches from my cage I found the bars of another cage and when I moved my hand up, my fingers touched someone else’s hand.
“Did I crash into your cage?”
“Yep. Most interesting thing that’s happened in thirteen days. What’s your name?”
There was a long silence and I wondered if he would speak again.
“Maggie, I’m… Grey… Stevens.”
I jerked up, ignoring the pain that shot through my body. “Grey? Grey?!” I pressed myself against the bars and gripped his hands. “They said you were dead!”
“That’s what they say about everyone they put in here.” His large hands wrapped around mine. They were warm. “I missed you.”
Tears stung my eyes. “I missed you too. Grey, I thought you were dead.” I suppressed a sob.
Grey Stevens. My brother’s best friend and my childhood crush since I was eight years old. A year ago he had been taken away and proclaimed dead; eliminated by the rulers.
“There’s no one left.” I told him. “They took my family and yours. I haven’t heard anything about them in months.”