_“Riya, wake up” _

I hear the_ _reminder bounce around in the back of my head, though it is quickly drowned out by blare of the alarms, whining and wailing like raid sirens. I feel the heavy weight of grogginess and exhaustion fall on me as I swing my legs over the side of the stiff, rusty bed frame. But this is what I endure every day. Today is no exception, and I have learned not to expect there to be any.

Only I remember when my birthday is, often celebrated by a day just as backbreaking and wearying as the one before it, only I feel the weight of how long I’ve been here a little bit more. Another year of my life gone to waste, and for what?

No. Better not to question it all, because those who question things are the ones who never go home.

The telltale, uniform thump of soldiers boots hitting the concrete floor is all that moves me to stand stiff as a board by my cell door, at attention, waiting for the routine search.

The creaky bars are pulled aside as two guards step inside, turning up all of my quarters. Sheets are torn from the bed, the bed frame is flipped over, the sink pipe unscrewed and examine. They run their hands over the walls and floor, checking for loose tiles or stones. At least I am not being stripped down today, a humiliating check I have been accustomed to.

Down the hall I hear a shout, then loud crashes and the clang of bars. The shot of a gun rings down the row of cells, causing them to shudder, and I have to resist the urge to cover my ears. Once before, they almost shot me for moving, and I will not be one to tempt fate.

It does not take long before I see the body dragged along the white, tiled floor, a stain running along the path. I turn my gaze away, but not fast enough to recognize the face. Jolie, fifteen, who had arrived only a week ago, sentenced to five years of labour due to insufficient funds in her account when asked to pay rent. Some last half as long. Maybe it’s better she leave here this way.

“Clean up your quarters, then report to your supervisor for your work,” the guard says as he leaves my cell. One of them pulls a wooden plate carved with the number four from the wall, replacing it with the number three. It reads, 193 days of sentence. I’m almost out of here, it feels. Just a few months and I can go.

I try not to let the hope bubble in my chest, try and quell the rising anticipation as the plates are changed in the morning. It is getting harder though, and I worry it will only lead to disappointment. Still, how can one not feel elated at such a freeing thought. _I’m going home. Soon I will be home. _

_“Riya, wake up” _

It has been getting easier to drag my ass out of the bed in the mornings, even when my rest has also been getting shorter. At night I can hardly fall asleep. My mind buzzes with the imaginings of what it will be like to see my family again. My brother must have recently turned nineteen. He’ll be joining that airship academy he always dreamed of going. Maybe. I wonder if his hopes have changed since he was five. The memory of his face won’t be so fuzzy anymore, that’s for sure. I hope he has retained his dimples, his most charming feature.

The alarm groans through the caverns, and I stand at my door as the searches are done.

Two days ago, a boy came in to replace Jolie. He looked about seventeen, and he seems to still be alive. Every day I don’t here a gunshot, I feel relieved. He had a survivors look about him. A soldier changes my plates to read ‘101 days of sentence’. I have to bite my lips not to smile.

We, my cell mates and I, are directed to our supervisor outside the entrance to the purification facility. We are each handed filtration masks and protective suits, though most are in poor condition from overuse. Still, we do not object. I do not object. I could not even think of what kind of set back that would have for me. And I am far too close.

We enter the mining facility, and I can feel the heat blast over me even through the thick protective wear. My whole body seizes up, like it always does. I must remind myself that I am perfectly safe as long as I wear my suit, that the flames of the furnace are all the way in the other side of the mines. Sweat beads on my fore head as I am handed a pickaxe, and I swing my very hardest, funneling my newfound energy into my work.

All I hear all day long is the constant sound of metal glancing off stone.

_CHINK! CHINK! CHINK!_

_“Riya, wake up!”_

It is strange to hear your name shouted from both inside and outside of your head at once. The sensation causes me to stir, and I see a boy standing over my bed, steely eyes glinting in the dim light of the lanterns in the hallway. It’s the boy who stays in Jollie’s old cell. I haven’t even bothered to learn his name, though he clearly knows mine. He presses a finger to his lips as he sits down on the edge of my mattress. I notice my cell door sprung wide open, and can barely contain a gasp.

“Do not be alarmed, Riya. I am Anive. The other prisoners and I are planning to escape soon. We want to give you the choice to come with us.” He says it like it is no choice at all, as if I have already said yes. It does not make it any harder for me to shake my head, though. I have only two weeks left of my sentence. It would be all kinds of foolish to agree to this. I am almost angry he asked, because coming into my cell means I may be at risk of association.

His expression of excitement falls, his eyes less bright. “But why? This place is nothing but Hell? Don’t you want to be free?”

His confusion is so genuine, and I can tell it’s because he doesn’t understand how long I’ve waited for that countdown to freedom to reach zero, and it’s nearly there, reading twenty only yesterday. He’s not been here three months, his sentence still reading in the thousands. A few hundred days on doesn’t seem like so much to him.

I remember feeling that way. Not afraid, willing to throw my life away on a whim.

“You don’t understand,” I say finally, because it is the best way to summarize it. “I’ve waited too long to get ten more years dropped on my head. You’re young enough not to care.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then changes his mind. We sit in silence like that for a while. Then he speaks.

“How did you get here?”

I cringe, bad memories flooding my mind. All come with the scorching of flames and scars. I roll up my sleeve to reveal a well kept secret.

“When I was nineteen, one of our neighbours were discovered to be conspiring against the government. They lit their house on fire in the middle of the night, and held back anyone who attempted to help them get out. I was not about to let that stop my stupidly noble younger self,” my voice is getting shaky and I must stop to compose myself. “I went in to help them escape. I nearly didn’t make it, hence my burns. I thought I’d be a hero, you know? I thought I’d done the right thing. But I was accused of assisting criminals. All of us ended up here, and they died last year from smoke poisoning in the mines. I didn’t save any lives that day. Better if I’d done nothing,” now I am truly in danger of crying. I turn my head away, not wanting to seem so vulnerable in front of him.

We sit in silence for a while before he gets up and walks towards the door. Before he shuts it, he turns back to me and smiles. “You did do the right thing, no matter what they’d have you think. That’s pretty heroic,” he closes my cell and locks the door.

_“Riya, WAKE UP!” _

My whole body jolts upright. I shake off the voice, though I have started to wonder recently why it’s so loud, so persistent. But today I have no time for worries. Today is zero day. Today I get out.

I make sure to straighten my sheets and pillow before standing perfectly still in front of the door. I force myself not to smile when the guard opens my cell, to laugh and jump with joy, like a child. I feel like a child.

Then a guard enters my cell,, beginning the routine search. I feel my bubble pop. Is it not zero day? No, the guard out front it removing the pallets now. I almost ask what’s going on, but remember, almost too late that we’re are never to speak to anyone. That’s when I hear a metal clang behind me.

“What’s this doing here?” The soldier asks, and it takes me a second to realize the question was directed at me. I turn to see him holding a smithing hammer, like the ones they use in the forge the floor above us.

That was not there only a second ago, when I was cleaning. By the time the picture has fully formed in my head, he has raised his gun to fire at me.

“RIYA, WAKE UP!”

The moment slows down, his finger hovering over the trigger.

This isn’t simply a call to rise from my slumber. No, I am no longer asleep. For once I can see the truth. They will never let me out of here. They will never let anyone out of here.

And I will no longer stand by.

To be continued…