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Chapter 1 Sneak Peak

Chapter One

December 21, 2009

DAY 843

In the darkness, Natan’s soaked hair teases her face as she pushes her body up and down against the cold, hard concrete floor. Perspiration glistens from every part of her as she attempts to warm her muscles with action for some eminent battle ahead. Her steady breath gives way to momentum as her action accelerates. Her lean, muscular body rises and falls as if a perpetual wave breaking against a hardened, undefined shore. Natan’s face, hollow from the toll of years without her freedom, houses a determination that reaches far beyond the room. Her arms and legs begin to shake as she pushes through until her body cannot accommodate one more repetition. As her last ounce of energy leaves her, Natan’s exhausted body falls to floor, her damp cheek pressing fully against the ice cold concrete. She lingers there, feeling the cold familiar feeling that she has come to know and appreciate envelop her.

Natan methodically pulls her body up, and pushes the hair from her face as she lets out a long, full breath. She runs her fingers through her hair as she sits down on the hardened cot waiting beside her.

“In the stillness lies the answers…our own truth emerges,” Natan whispers aloud as her eyes close in the moment.

Natan sits in the darkness of her cell waiting for the tiny fluorescent sun to greet her and let her know that the day has begun. The initiation of the shielded glimpse from the one and only small light bulb that sits center cell is her only reference point for change. This windowless pit offers no indication of time for day or night. Time simply blends, melding one day to the next as it has been for the last two plus years.

The December air is beyond cold and houses a staleness which allows Natan to never forget where she is, just as it has been since the very first day Natan arrived, now well past two Augusts ago. She sits completely motionless, the perspiration gleaming on her face and body, with her feet dangling over the bedside as the quiet calm of the room creates a silence around her own heart beat, each breath drawing the walls in closer to her. The coldness of the cell echoes in the mist that forms around her breath as the hot exhale joins the nearly frigid surrounding air. Virtual icicles form all over her damp skin. Over time, Natan has become accustomed to this hyperborean environment.

The cell is suddenly invaded by a dampened flood of light. Natan simply blinks once as her eyes adjust quickly, recognizing this false sun as her vision has become accustomed to the morning trauma over the past months and months. In the stillness of the room, Natan draws in a long, deep abdominal breath and then releases as her firm belly pushes out every ounce of air. Her movements are slow, deliberate. Her firm, incredibly cut body finds the rhythm of her breath. Months of daily exercise, hours at time, has helped fill the timeless void and has left Natan with the physique of a well bred Olympian.

In addition to her physical changes, patience is the most evident internal lesson Natan bears. Her demeanor has slowed considerably as she looks to her left and then slowly to her right, taking in the illuminated prison box yet again for the innumerable time. She has memorized every crevice, every wrinkle of this room that had become her daily hell.

People would give virtually anything to gain more time. Natan would have gladly offered any portion of the last few years to the universal time bank without hesitation, perhaps to someone with an illness leaving their family behind. Natan has envisioned many scenarios numerous times to help fill the vastness of space. How does one fill eighteen hours a day for eight hundred and forty three days? Natan knows quite well how, the daily grind etched into her mind for eternity. One specific example is that exact number. Natan lets her mind wander for the moment. According to numerology, one must add the eight to the four and then to the three, which equals fifteen. Following the numerological law, one must then divide the answer of fifteen to five and one and then add the two together. Six, Natan thinks to herself. I’m quite sure the Professor would relish the idea of me chewing on the notion of numerology. I wonder how you are, Professor Sails.

As her breath slows, Natan blinks in recognition, shifting her thoughts back to the moment. Today is a day different then the hundreds prior, one which can never be forgotten. Today is not only Natan’s birthday, but a day of potential. Natan’s eyes register the moment that she has wished for, prayed for, begged for, until nearly all hope had left her. Her breath quickens with anticipation. To calm herself, she parts her lips and the humming begins. In the moments of complete despair in the months and months passing, she has found repose in the vibrational rhythm. Natan catches a thought and lets it marinade. Life is simply rhythm, a flow, a string of numerical intricacies strewn together in a cohesive momentum that etches forward in sync with the ever expanding universe. Natan’s awareness shifts instantly. Something is coming.

The lucent flicker of the half light blinks against the concrete wall of Natan’s hollowed cell. She breathes in the anticipation fully as she waits. This cell is a place Natan surrendered into, a hell of solitude and backhanded salvation where she spent moment by moment uncovering her truth. Or has she? Natan closes her eyes and reflects in patience.

Copyright © 2010 K. Thorpe. All rights reserved.