A loud slamming noise roused her from her reveries. Her lip
instantly curled in disgust as the rauncy smell met her nostrils. Not
exactly the type of wake-up call she'd been hoping for. Running her
fingers through her thin, matted, greasy hair, she moaned and began
to roll her neck some, getting all the kinks out of it. She'd fallen
asleep sitting up again. For the past two months she'd done so,
feeling somewhat more prepared for surprises that way. Sometimes, she
just did it to make herself smaller, hoping she would disappear in
the shadow cast upon the corner where she was, due to the night
streaming in through the window.
Yes, there was a window, making her cell a room with a view.
However, it was anything but pleasant, in more ways than one. First
of all, the window overlooked the entire camp, with all its dreary
branches. Long, thin brick buildings were everywhere, with people
constantly moving in an out of them. Sometimes in, seldom out. She
used to sit there, when they'd first arrived. She'd been a fool,
believing then that, just like in the pictures, a handsome soldier
would appear, an American soldier, and rescue her from this
nightmare. Believing this wholeheartedly, she'd sat upon the little
crevice made by the window jutting out slightly, and waited. And
watched. German soldiers were constantly marching along behind a
group of cowering, miserable looking bodies. That's all they were,
bodies. You couldn't call them humans because their souls had been
pulled from them too long ago.
The second pleasantry of the window was the fact that it
brought into the cell another opening for bad air to enter. Stale
air. Even when there was a slight breeze, there was no relief.
Instead, the breeze succeeded in bringing with it the smell of all
the carcasses from the mass graves constantly being dug over the
hill. It brought with it the suffering, moaning cries of the people
there with her. Feeling her pain. Knowing every thought going through
her head, only because they were the same thoughts each and every
person there were thinking.
In the evenings, the temperature in the cell dropped at least
ten degrees. She'd learned this after a week or so, and slept against
the wall nearest the window, to avoid the draft that wafted in at
night. There was barely a difference in temperature there, but just
knowing that it was slightly less cold was a little comfort to her.
Comfort, at that time, was hard to find. Even thinking about Logan
and days gone by brought no relief. Instead, they brought bitterness.
She was angry with it all. Angry with him for not coming...for not
taking her away from all this. She tried to rationalize...to tell
herself that he would if he could, but it was no help. Eventually,
though, when the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into a month,
she even let go of the bitterness. She realized it wasn't providing
the comfort she thought it had been. In the end it was doing nothing
but worsening her already horrid situation.
Moving to crack her neck, she sighed in annoyance when the
familiar piece of metal prevented her from doing so. She saw, on the
brick wall beside her, a tiny light flickering green. She knew it
meant that her collar was on. It was kept on at all times. It had
taken her a good week or two to learn that the collar prevented her
from using her mutant powers. After realizing this, she'd decided it
was a good item to have, for the Germans anyway. She'd wondered,
hearing about mutant concentration camps, as to how they kept the
mutants under control. Now she knew.
Hanging her feet over the edge of her bed, she gave a short
push with her arms and jumped to the ground. At least, that was her
intention. Of course, after days without food, water, and exercise,
her arms had deteriorated somewhat, leaving her far weaker than when
she'd first arrived. And so, her attempt to land upright failed, as
her legs crumpled in response to the weight being put upon them.
Before she had time to pull herself up off the ground, she
felt a heavy force push down on the back of her head, causing her
face to dig further into the dirt ground. When the weight was at last
removed, she pushed herself up on two wobbly arms and spit out the
dirt that had gotten past her lips. Wiping some of it off her face,
she turned to the offender. Had she more strength, she may have
attacked the man. But, as it were, it would only bring about more
pain. Lately, she'd learned that the best way to get back at these
people was to act as though nothing mattered. Take the punches, take
the insults, remain silent and still. Eventually, they moved on to
others. They moved onto people who would cower and whimper and
provide more of a show under their torturing.
Marie moved to say something, only to be struck rather hard
across the face. For a moment, a bright light flashed in front of her
eyes, then turned dangerously dark. She thought, just for a second,
that she was going to pass out. But then her vision cleared and she
felt herself being lifted off the ground. The first time they'd done
this, she'd been terrified and confused. Now, she went passively,
knowing what they wanted, and preparing to keep it from them.
Keeping in mind that it was mostly a camp for mutants, she
was able, fairly quickly, to know what they wanted. They brought her
into the same small room everyday, and placed her in the same small
wooden chair. Then, they would surround her, and remove the collar
from around her neck. The first time this had happened, she thought
she was being freed.
Remembering the surge of hope she'd felt that day, Marie dropped her
head. The pain beating within her chest grew rapidly each day, some
times to the point of suffocation. The endless taunting was always in
the back of her mind, telling her that hope was pointless. That the
people who came before her wouldn't be saved, and neither would she.