The small boy tore through the night, his dark ebony skin glistening with sweat under the faint moonlight that pierced the canopy of clouds above. His big Afro bounced wildly with every frantic step, a chaotic crown atop his head, as he fled the shadowy prison that had caged him for what felt like an eternity. His heart thudded against his ribcage—not just from the exertion of running, but from the wild, intoxicating hope surging through his veins. Freedom was so close he could taste it, bitter and sweet all at once.
His clothes were a tattered mess, shredded scraps stained with the dry, rust-coloured blood of struggles long past, clinging to his thin frame like a cruel reminder of what he'd endured. The dark blue pyjama robe he wore, filthy and frayed at the edges, was the only piece still somewhat intact, flapping behind him like a battered flag of defiance. His bare feet slapped against the cold, uneven ground, each step a testament to his desperation, each ragged breath a prayer that this time, this time, he'd make it.
"Just a little more," he gasped to himself, his voice a hoarse whisper lost in the wind. "I can see it—the forest. I'll hide there. They'll never find me in the trees. I'll disappear, and this nightmare will finally end."
The forest loomed ahead, a dark, sprawling mass of twisted branches and dense foliage, its shadows stretching out like welcoming arms. His lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, but he pushed harder, faster, driven by the elated grin that split his face. He could almost feel the cool earth beneath the trees, smell the damp moss, hear the rustle of leaves that would cloak him from his pursuers. Freedom was a heartbeat away, and for the first time in months—or was it years?—he let himself believe it was real.
"C'mon, c'mon," he urged himself, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration. "Don't look back. Don't stop. Just keep going. You're almost there!"
The edge of the forest was mere steps away now, the promise of sanctuary so tangible he could reach out and touch it. His fingers brushed the air as if to grasp it, his chest heaving with a laugh that bubbled up from deep within—a sound of triumph, of defiance, of a boy who'd outwitted his captors at last. But then, the ground beneath him seemed to lurch, the shadows twisted unnaturally, and a cold shiver raced up his spine. His feet stumbled over nothing, the ground tilting beneath him as the forest dissolved into damp stone and flickering torchlight.
"No—no, no, no!" he cried, his voice cracking as the illusion shattered around him. He wasn't running. He wasn't free. He was still here, trapped in the suffocating gloom of the underground cell, the damp stone walls pressing in on all sides. The broken shackles around his wrists clinked faintly as he shifted, their jagged edges biting into his raw skin.
His tattered robe hung heavy on his shoulders, the filth caked into its fibers a mocking testament to his unchanging reality. The forest, the moonlight, the taste of freedom—it had all been a dream, a cruel trick of his exhausted mind.
A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the silence, and his head jerked up, eyes wide with dread. Three girls stood before him, their silhouettes framed by the flickering light of a single torch embedded in the wall. Their faces were twisted with cruel amusement, their eyes glinting with malice as they watched him crumble.
"Look at him," the first girl sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. She had sharp features and hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. "He really thought he escaped this time. How pathetic."
The second girl giggled, a high-pitched sound that grated against his ears like nails on stone. "Did you see his face? All happy and hopeful, like he actually had a chance. Gods, it's too funny!"
"Poor little dreamer," the third girl added, her tone softer but no less cutting, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned closer. "Running to your little forest again, were you? What was it this time—hiding in the trees? Climbing up to the sky? You're never getting out of here, you know. Never."
The boy's breath hitched, his hands curling into fists as their words sliced through him. His elated grin was gone, replaced by a trembling grimace, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Shut up," he whispered, his voice barely audible, shaking with a mix of rage and despair. "Just… shut up."
"Oh, he's mad now!" the first girl crowed, clapping her hands together as if it were all a grand performance. "What are you gonna do about it, huh? Run away? Go on, try it. We'll wait."
"Yeah, tell us how it goes," the second chimed in, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. "Maybe next time you'll sprout wings and fly away. Wouldn't that be something?"
"Damn it, I said fuck off!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he clasped his head.
The third girl tilted her head, her smirk widening. "Aw, don't cry now. It's not our fault you're so easy to fool. Maybe if you stopped dreaming, you'd stop breaking your own heart."
Their laughter swelled, a cacophony of cruelty that filled the cell, drowning out the faint clink of the cell doors as the girls made their way out of the room, leaving the boy alone with his shackles.