8 Cairo - The Gulag Part 2

The candlestick was beginning to reach its final moments alive. The flame was beginning to diminish, and I began to hear the wind scraping against the windows. I patiently waited for Rina to simmer down her quiet sobs, but the streaks of dry tears remained on her flushed cheeks.

"Kalvin stopped all the guards from catching us," Rina whispered aside. "He couldn't help everyone… But most of us got out, and he continued holding them off…"

"So he was a warden?" I mumbled - putting my emphasis on the 'was' - already knowing the answer.

She nodded, "I wanted to go back for you-"

"It doesn't matter now," I interrupted her. "Going back for me would have made my attempt pointless. Just be thankful you escaped when you did, because after that day, it only got worse."

…

I remember waking up a few days later with the most irritating pain in my throat. I spat on the steel bars that surrounded my cell and cleaned them with whatever clothes I had remaining.

It took a minute or so to find the right angle, but I managed to catch my own reflection in the steel bar. It wasn't the prettiest sight, as I was covered in dry blood, dirty clothes, and torn skin. However, I managed to get a glimpse of the tiny pieces of string holding my neck together.

I could sense that even one small motion in the wrong direction would pull apart the stitches in a heartbeat, so I tried to keep that in mind for what was about to happen.

Apparently, since I didn't know what happened to the prisoners on the upper floors at the time, I just assumed they were all captured and brought to a justice of some sort. Even I could hear the faint screams echoing through the hollow walls of the gulag, and even I knew that escaping from this place for a second time would prove no good.

The warden in the general's hat approached me in my cell, smiling as always. "Due to your act of bravery, we've run into some problems on the upper floors," He chortled to himself as if it wasn't a problem at all. "Your next opponents will be a little older, and I'm afraid you can't refuse to fight."

I remained silent, still angered by the sheer presence of his voice.

"Excellent." He said as he walked off, throwing one last bowl of disgusting soup in my face.

The next fight I had inside the Gulag didn't even last more than a minute. I remember being thirteen or so, and my opponent in his late thirties. It was a weak, skinny man who looked as if he hadn't eaten in a full moon. Well... I didn't look any better either.

In that one minute we were both inside the Gulag, he told me about his wife and kids waiting for his arrival at home. He looked so pitiful, and I knew he wasn't lying either. Apparently, their house back at home had a secret bunker where his wife and kids hid during the war. The man acted as nothing more than bait to protect his family. He refused to fight me, or anyone else.

\tThe warden entered, and killed the man without a single hesitation with the wooden paddle glued tightly to his hand. In fact, he looked happy doing it. He was easily a killer by heart, not by request.

\tSo, my next fight was with another older gentleman. He looked to be about late twenties at most, very well fed, and definitely not planning on holding back.

\tBy that point, any emotion I had left to feel any pity or remorse was already far gone. The only thing I had left was pain, nothing more, nothing less.

\tThe man came running towards me at full speed, face full of sweat, and dry soup remains dangling from his lips like a drunken guerrilla. He took a swing at me, barely scraping against the side of my hair as I ducked and hurled myself away from him.

\tI didn't know a single thing about fighting, but it's like I was born to do it. After the next swing, I threw my pathetically weak fist into a fattened portion of his stomach, and the man dropped dead as if he's just been struck by bolt of lightning.

\tAt the time, I didn't know what happened, but in my later years when I came to learn human anatomy, I realized my fist had landed directly in his solar plexus, traumatizing him unexpectedly.

\tI heard faint breaths escape his thick neck, so I took that time to snap it, freeing him of his suffering.

\tThe warden came up to me, clapping and cheering as he'd just seen a beautiful performance. "Bravo! Bravo! Very well done!"

\tI remained silent, still, and tense. That was the first time I had ever taken a life. No, it was the first time I had felt something other than pain. I felt like a murderer, because that's what I've become.

\tEvery fight I ever entered after that day was a fight for survival. I killed, and killed, and killed. Every time I killed, I grabbed a sharpened rock I had hidden beneath my soup bowl, and I made a mark on my arm for every life I stole.

\tTwo years passed until finally, the entire second and third floors collapsed on top of us on the bottom floor. Luckily, I was unscathed, and my cell was broken free. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for the others.

I quickly rushed out, trying my hardest to breathe inside the dust and rubble hovering in the air after the wreckage. I took off my shirt and wrapped it around my mouth and nose, looking for a possible exit around me.

After a few turns and twitches, I found a fallen rock that led to what seemed like a pathway about fifteen feet above where I stood. I didn't think it was possible to make the jump at first, but it's as if my body just moved on its own again.

I braced my core, loosened the pressure building up in my frail knees, and jumped as high as I possibly could.

At first, I knew I could only jump about two feet off the ground at maximum potential. However, after I reached the five-foot mark, my body kept going. It kept going higher and higher until it passed the landing I was intentionally going for. I remember hitting my head against another rock sticking out from the ceiling, but I managed to land on the pathway on my way back down.

My head didn't hurt, only making my vision blurry for a moment as I came to my surroundings again.

I probably spent about ten minutes examining my legs after that. Nothing seemed strange, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and nothing seemed any different. So I got up, and began running through the empty pathway that was laid out for me.

The lights inside the hallways were practically completely blown out from all the explosions and rubble that was scattered around. Big blocks of cement and broken walls covered most of the hallways, along with countless dead guards and prisoners.

I kept running, and running, and running till I could no more. Eventually, I ended up on the very first floor that led to the ones below me. It was a large, faulty elevator-like room. There were no windows, no signs of an exit, and no signs of anyone around me.

As stupid as I was, I stepped onto the rusty looking mineshaft elevator and pulled the lever to go up. At first, the elevator didn't budge, but after a few painful noises, it started it's journey upward.

I took this time to unwrap my shirt, placing it back on my beaten body for some sort of protection I thought it gave. Instead, it just uncovered my healed scar and made me look like I was ready to kill anyone standing in my way. Which intern was a good thing, because I was ready to kill anyone in my way.

I arrived in a weird, closet-like room on the first floor of the king's castle. The room was dark, and hidden from anyone unwanted ever trying to find it. I opened a shallow wooden door, seeing a shelf filled with used garden equipment and other useless tools blocking my way.

I pushed the shelf over, making a disturbing noise against the tile floor below me. After searching around for a bit, I found a rigid machete, so I took it as a souvenir for the time being.

I went through another door, and soon enough, I was standing on the main floor inside the castle walls. Trying my best to stay hidden against the giant walls beside me, I shuffled through endless rooms and corridors like I was a snake in the grass.

A few guards would block my way every now and then, so I made a cut on my arm for every guard I encountered, continuing my ascent through the castle walls.

By the time I finally found an exit, my hands were covered in cuts and gashes, and my body was covered in blood that wasn't my own. I looked like a hyena that just finished it's breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was a complete mess.

I encountered some of the king's slaves on my way up, but I left them be, thinking it wasn't worth another senseless scar. I passed plenty of private kitchens, baths, and secret wardrobes only the highest-ranking officials had access too.

Whether it was a good thing or not, I found out what that brown liquid soup was made of - Cockroaches, carrots, and boiled water. A perfect combination of protein, carbohydrates, and minimal dietary fat.

After cleaning myself and changing my dirt-covered shirt into a more suitable outfit, I politely asked the slaves where I could find the man in charge. They gave the right direction, and I promised their freedom in return.

They walked behind me up the royal stairs, acting as my personal slaves so no one dared to bat an eye. I kept the machete firmly planted on their necks just in case anyone questioned why a thirteen-year-old boy had four slaves following him.

When I arrived at the king's doors, the guards gave me two more scars on my arms, and I entered freely.

The number of guards and wardens surrounding the king exceeded my expectations, but my eyes stayed locked onto the bastard sitting on the throne.

I decided this would be an exception for putting scars on myself, so I slowly began my approach.

"There you are," I said, plainly.

The king didn't even bother to look at my presence as he instantly made a shooing gesture with his hand, prompting the royal guards to take care of me. Surprisingly, these ones actually knew how to fight, but it's very unfortunate they met me at my current state. As for I had a weapon in my hands.

Not one guard even landed a single hit on me, but the bastard on the thrown didn't look impressed in the slightest. Despite him only having two wardens remaining, he looked as confident as ever.

One of the wardens was the one in the general's hat, and the other held a brilliant looking katana holstered to his waist. It had a black leather grip, and the blade seemed sharp enough to cut through a fully grown pine tree.

I didn't realize it back then, but if I would have fought them, I would have died.

Fortunately, the walls around the king's throne burst into a flame of explosions, and the wardens were unlucky enough to be blasted outside of the king's chamber.

I never found out what those explosions were, but from the look of it, it looked as if they were on my side. After being blasted against one of the walls, I ignored the lingering pain in my legs and made my way through the rubble to the thrown.

The king was crying and weeping to be helped as he laid lodged against a giant boulder above him. However, he never even dared to look at me while crying for god's mercy.

"You want help?" I questioned him as the sounds of his cries poured through my ears, "Go and find Cairo, he'll gladly help you." I tightened the grip around my machete, cutting his hands right off like pieces of freshly baked pie.

He screamed, and yelled, and cried. Cried as if he'd just gotten his toys taken away. It was a coward's cry, not the cry of a king.

I wrapped a piece of my royal clothing around my face and left through one of the holes made by the explosion.

If I were to go back, I would have killed him. After knowing what he'd become after I left, I wouldn't hesitate as to even…

…

I sighed, "Perhaps that's enough for now… I'll leave the rest of the story for another day."

I didn't even realize how lost I've gotten in my own words that Rina was already fast asleep atop my shoulder. Her tears remained wet, and her face was as still as the moon.

I think that was the perfect way to describe it. The moon moves faster than anything I've ever seen, but it's still. Still like it hasn't moved in over a century.

That's what I saw in Rina. She slept peacefully, quietly, motionless. Yet her heart beat loud, and her sorrow moved swiftly through the droplets on her cheeks.

The candlestick had finally came to it's undermining end. The light remaining in the bar vanished, and the ever so changing moonlight twinkled through the windows.

I gently placed her in my arms and carried her upstairs. I didn't know where her room was, nor did I care to look for it, so I placed her in my bed, trying my best not to wake Mooks from his peaceful slumber.

After dragging myself down the stairs, I sat down in my usual spot by the end of the table. "Thank you, Rina," I whispered, and fell asleep on the countertop.