"Little one..." The Blue Tongue inquires playfully, exhaling a thick, tobacco-laced cloud of smoke into her face.
I click my tongue in disgust. A girl so young, naked and vulnerable should not be subjected to the breath of such a fat bastard. She sobs, her delicate fingers momentarily brushing over her legs, her thin arms shielding her chest.
"No, you shouldn't die. You could be useful elsewhere." The Blue Tongue eyes her hungrily.
Disgusting. Not just him, but the others in the adjacent cell who leer at her with the same twisted interest.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, my brows furrowing in rage as I kneel before the rusted bars. I say nothing, but I would smash every one of their skulls if given the chance.
"Tell me, sweet thing, who was the culprit?"
The girl swallows, tears streaming down her face, her head bowed. Guilt, perhaps. Or the sight of her parents' lifeless, unblinking eyes staring back at her.
She raises her hand. Points. At me.
Her finger is barely half the size of mine. Maybe she's no older than nine.
I exhale, losing everything. Breaking.
I want to lift my head. My greasy, dark blond hair slides along my ears as I do. Just once—I want to spit in his face. Just once—I want to land a punch, to shatter his teeth, to bash in the back of his skull. The thought even makes me smile.
But my cracked lips absorb the salt of my own tears.
They will bleed me dry.
My toes curl into the cold floor. Into the piss we've all been lying in for weeks. Into the filth some have resorted to eating because they've barely fed us.
I am dehydrated. Weak. How will I even move against a colossus? Without a weapon?
More tears slip down my cheeks as I stare at the translucent silhouette of the Blue Tongue. The light catches his edges, and beyond him, I see the sun.
The sky looks cold, but it feels warm against my skin.
"You fat bastard!" A hoarse voice erupts from the distance.
My eyelids hover over my eyes, and for a fleeting moment, hope ignites within me.
The blue light seems almost divine, as if someone has answered my silent prayers.
I wait, my smirk growing, as the Blue Tongue turns, as he stomps a heavy boot against the bars in frustration.
"A maggot like you dares—"
I don't hear the rest.
He has turned away. He is walking. Slowly.
With closed eyes, I reach out, wanting to press my palm against the trembling girl's shoulder. To tell her it's not her fault. That it's okay.
But I stop mid-motion.
My already pale eyes grow paler. Shadows deepen under them.
Suddenly, I feel my entire body again. My raw knees scrape against the splintered wooden floor.
I strike the bars once, an electric shock ripping through me, reminding me of the little girl's parents.
I break. My heart breaks.
Ren was the one who screamed.
My little brother, standing atop a corpse, dehydrated, with a sneering grimace aimed at the Blue Tongue.
His fist is weak, trembling, stopping just short of the bars.
"You fat, disgusting blue gorilla!" He roars, his hoarse voice crackling.
I didn't recognize him. His voice.
"You blues are nothing but a pile of rancid shit!" Ren yells, while I claw for the Blue Tongue's attention.
"You fat, blue motherfucker, you'd even eat your own children!" I bellow, but my voice is weaker than Ren's.
I swallow, and it burns. My throat is dry, but I keep screaming.
I slam my hand against the bars again, harder this time. More painful.
The Blue Tongue is already halfway to Ren. His steps are thunderous, furious.
He yells louder, though the veins in my throat and forehead feel as if they'll burst.
My face is as red as his.
Darkness washes over me. My screams are no louder than whispers.
I clutch my burning, bloodied throat, desperate to cry out, to scream.
Tears spill down my face. The agony of helplessness crushes me.
How selfish you are, I think, my reddened eyes locking onto the Blue Tongue's back.
I should die. Then you would live.
You are the younger one.
I scream again, but only hot air escapes.
It hurts. More than my fists, which are numb with adrenaline, but I cannot stop.
I slam against the bars, over and over, my knuckles turning redder, my hands raw.
My body quakes. I don't stop. My fists pound faster than my heartbeat.
Why don't I die like the girl's parents?
Then I feel it. A small hand.
A tiny poke against my arm.
As if trying to grip my sleeve—except none of us have clothes.
I exhale shakily, the world spinning.
Everything moves so slowly.
I feel the filth caking my shin, the piss soaking my feet.
The others stare at me, heads bowed.
Why did it have to be me?
I look down at my mangled hands. They tremble, fingers refusing to spread.
I see my own bone. Flesh torn.
I lift my gaze. Sweat and tears splatter the floor.
The Blue Tongue drags my brother.
Ren's muscles are frail, his body gaunt.
The Blue Tongue unsheathes a knife. A long one, strapped to his belt. He twirls it between his fingers as he opens the gate.
Ren looks at me from afar. Smiling.