No Hero

The children huddled in the dark, the straw on the floor offering no comfort to the grimy stone floor.

Those still naive enough to have hope stood at attention as the heavy door swung open. 

The guards entered the room, filling it like smoke, spreading themselves amongst the small huddles, pulling the weak or defiant to attention. The occasional crack of someone's body being slammed into the wall, followed by the short gasp as the air left their chests followed like a sick echo.

The guards picked up the children who hadn’t made it through the night and piled them by the doorway. A few started to harass and beat the others in the cell, striking out at random. They never aimed for anyone in particular, their violence being the only gift equally distributed. 

One guard kicked her in the ankle, forcing her to fall onto the hard stone floor. It felt broken, the pain making her buckle as she attempted to put weight on her foot. As she tried to steady herself, the stone wall cut into her palm, her brittle nails fraying as she slid. She was so weak from the lack of sun and food and wondered if this would even heal. Part of her hoped it wouldn’t and it would end this way of life for her. 

A few children were being snatched by their rags and thrown towards the door, one child was thrown so hard their frail body slumped against the door, their head making a sickening crack against the wooden door.

  The ones chosen would not be returning. 

They never did.

No one knew what happened to the ones taken away, but everyone left with a voice croaked their theories in crackled whispers once the footsteps faded. Wondering if she was lucky or damned was the only safe thought that interrupted the darkness. Wondering where her family was– she couldn’t think of them anymore. 

Was she lucky to still be alive, even though she was trapped in a dark hole or was this a specific hell design for those trapped in these cold, grimy walls? She wasn’t sure where to even put herself in those categories.

“Wait, wait please,” she croaked out, her vocal chords stretching for the first time in, it must have been months. She stopped talking when people started disappearing.

The man who kicked her struck her again, then picked her up by her arm.

“What?” he growled in her face.

“I want to take their place,” she weakly coughed out, pointing at the child. Blood had started to seep from their head, their breath slowing.

In the early days, they thought maybe they’d been reunited with their families or given to new ones. Even given a job somewhere. 

Most of the children had given up on that dream long ago.

She had never dreamed from the beginning.  

Someone tried to escape once early in the containment, a boy with long dark hair, charged at the door when food was brought in. They didn’t get more than a foot past a guard before they were snatched by their neck; the others watched as it was swiftly broken in front of them. The food that had yet to be handed out was revoked as punishment. 

The body was left for a few days as a warning to the others. She was glad his hair hid the empty eyes from view. 

Everyone knew what was happening then. There was no reuniting or new families or hope.  

Just death once you left the cell.

“You’d like to save your friend? You don’t know what you’re volunteering for.”

Her ankle throbbed, her head was spinning from the lack of food. She knew what volunteering would do. Children weren’t as stupid as presumed.

She gravely nodded her head. Her death would come with as much dignity as she could give herself. 

“We got ourselves a hero. Leave that one,” he said pointing at the other child, their chest no longer moving, their jaw slack,” this one is taking its place.”

The guard dropped her outside the cell, the weight of the choice she made shattering the frail bones for certain. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The children were herded into another cell. They stood for what felt like a new, different eternity. This room was brighter, though not by much. It was cleaner too, with softer straw underneath them, though still sharp enough to cut into the tender soles of their feet. The hay had a sickly sweet smell compared to the putrid stench of the unwashed and dead bodies below. 

They lined up into two rows. Her ankle had swollen, and she swayed, the combination of fresh air, the walk to the new cell and the untold months of abuse made her dizzy. Trying to remain upright, afraid that falling would get her a beating from the guards, she breathed deeply, tears threatening to spill.

A new set of guards kept them corralled this time, a few of them seemed softer than the ones the group was used too. They handed out different colored scraps of fabric to each, giving a rare smile to one or two of the naive children.

“Tie these around your necks. Follow us.”

As the children marched out of the cell, into a humid hallway, they could hear a muffled roaring growing louder. Her heart and mind raced, trying to figure out what could be at the end of the tunnel. 

A large wooden door, twenty feet, thirty feet, an impossible height, was slowly opening as they approached. 

It had been so long since any of them had seen anything brighter than the lanterns in the cell. The boy in front of her flinched when the light got too bright, and turned flinching into her, causing them both to be struck by the guards and shoved forward.

Once their eyes adjusted to the brightness around them, the children saw a large crowd of people cheering them.

A table of daggers were being distributed as they filed out, being directed to the left or right of the doorway.

The guard who let her replace the other child whispered to her while handing her a rusty dagger.

“Still happy you saved your friend, little hero?”

And she realized then, she was no hero, but a sacrificial lamb.