by Brianna G. Harte
With the confidence of Lytos and others at my back, I closed my eyes and waded through all that I had come to know. Initially, they tried to trick me into thinking that they were human doctors. That is, until I began to see them for what they were: dwarves. They kept me strapped against a table against my will. They used fear against me, showing me Lytos in his lamentable state to persuade me not to try to escape. They experimented on me. I was willing to believe that the glowing stone was used to manipulate me, somehow. They did something to Lytos, whatever it was. I was sure of it. It was too convenient that he would forget so much. I wasn’t sure what weapons that had electricity arcing through them did, but it was just too convenient. Even with all of that, they tried to convince me that all was well. While young, I was willing to say that I had to get away from the dwarves. I was going to escape. And if I could somehow manage it, I was going to help the others escape too.
I began to formulate a plan. The hallways were out of the question. I would only be quickly caught, and I’d be back at square one. Or worse. I turned my eyes toward the ceiling. The vent. It was fairly high up, but if I could jump as high as I could far in the other world, then I would be able to make it easy. Trying would be better than just laying here. What after the vent? I knew nothing about them. Then, I realized that very small strands of hair very lightly brushed across my face, constantly flowing up and down. The vents were carrying air into the room. It had to be carrying air from somewhere, right? If so, I could try to go toward where the air was flowing from. It made sense. At least, it would if the dwarves didn’t somehow make it fake. I couldn’t put it past them. Not with the fact that dwarves exist, that I could communicate through nature speak far away, that I could go to another world. I didn’t know enough about the dwarves to figure that out. However, I believed that I knew someone who did.
Copyright © 2018 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.