The Cage

          Cold… It’s cold, thought Angel Macmillan. Blindly, she ran a hand over something. By touch alone, she guessed a wall. A brick wall. Open your eyes, Ange, that’ll make a start.
          They didn’t want to open, though. Every millimetre was a struggle, until two lifeless green eyes finally made it through. Lifeless. Like how she felt right then. Her dampened, mouse-brown hair looked black in the darkness of this place - what was this place?! Her only knowledge of it right now was that she was surrounded by brick walls. Wind gushed past, making it colder than it had been before. It whipped over her face like icy water. Perhaps there was a window in here? Wherever here was.
          It was only now she acknowledged that she was on the floor. The floor made her legs shiver on sheer realisation. Angel suddenly wished she had worn jeans today instead of that gorgeous above-the-knee skirt her mother had bought her. Her skin brushed over gravel, grazing it lightly. She stood, clumsily, climbing to her bare feet. She needn’t bother question why they were bare. It was the same as asking where she was.
          Danger and fear sunk in. No sources of civilization or light. No sense of company or warmth. The kind of warmth received from love. No memory of anything. Angel’s first instinct was to scream; and she did. She screamed long, and loud, and aimlessly. She was calling to no-one and after four cries, she fell, once again, to her original sitting position, tears streaming down her delicate cheeks. She wailed like a young child, clutching chunks of hair, pulling her head into her knees. She tried so hard to simply sit there and forget the world; but it was useless, like her screams.
          Always follow your instinct. It’s always right, her older brother Kylen constantly told her.
          “Where did that get me, Kylen?!” She bellowed to thin air. She then broke down, giving way to fresh lamentation. “Where did that get me?” She sobbed quieter, rubbing puffy eyes on her sleeve.
          This wasn’t home. Angel recognized home, and whatever this was set upon an opposite effect of the comfort home delivered to her. She felt lonely… Worthless…
          Wait… I remember something!, she realised, raising her tear stained face from her legs. Images ran over her mind like flashbacks, forcing confusion. She then pulled one out, as if it were a goldfish in a tank. She indulged in it, senses livening wildly. She writhed as the events replayed in her mind, as she relived every astonishing little detail in the once private and secluded sanctity of her mind. It was now soiled. Not a place she could be and fell safe anymore.
          “This is where it happened, isn’t it?” A new voice began. A soothing voice, but one so, that it was eerie. A male voice, Angel recalled, not replying to it. The only thing running through her mind right now was that she wanted to go home. To go home and tell her family over and over how much she loved them. Having something like this happen to you makes you realise you don’t do it often enough, she told herself, annoyed. She wanted to snuggle into a warm hug with her parents and talk to them all night. Just because she loved them. The male voice then occurred once again.
          “I said, this is where it happened, isn’t it?” The voice wasn’t aggravated. If anything, more calm and melodic than before. Angel nodded softly, her head now moving back down. She pulled her knees in defensively, resting her head on them once more. “Yes, it is.

          "This is where you died.”

          He said it like someone who had just proved a point. Egoistically and arrogantly.
          The shock hit her like a blade at her skin. It broke through easily, letting the red liquid pour. But it wasn’t painful. She was numb.
          Here was the place she lost everything. Here was where she let go. Here was where no-one gave a care about her, or would kiss her goodnight. Here was where nothing was hers, and nothing was familiar, and no-one was her friend. It was just her. Forever.
          She finally bravely raised her head to look at him. The man with no name. The man who could make her feel like she had just been ripped into five thousand pieces, slowly. He silently asked for her hand with his, but she refrained to move. He shrugged, showing just how quickly character could be changed.
          “Fine,” he said, attempting to seem hurt. “Stay here.” Her heavy head dropped indifferently, as she heard light footsteps become further and further…
          Her hands were bleeding after having cut them on various types of debris resting across the ground, and pulled strands of hair were entwined around her petite fingers. Angel could just see herself now - pathetic, weak and effortless. There was nothing more she wanted; nothing more she could have.
          She relived hours and minutes, somehow finding the time to realise what was happening. What would always be happening… Forever…
          It was just her… Forever…