{ dol — sam — escape pt1 }
I have the letter in my hand, clutching it tightly, as I look up at the small TV hanging from the ceiling. It’s boxed up in clear plastic, so that no one is able to change the channel or volume. It was almost always on the News.
For the past few weeks, I’v been hearing about this new sickness going around. Supposedly it starts out with flu like symptoms, then only escalates from there. They’re calling it the Purgatory Virus, and they’re warning people to see a doctor immediately if they are experiencing certain symptoms. Sounds like another scare tactic to me.
At least that’s what I thought, until people around me started getting sick. At night, when all the lights were out, I could hear them coughing. Hacking up whatever. A few days after that, they were breaking out in fevers. Somehow I managed to keep from getting ill myself. I have no idea how. But even the guards are showing symptoms now. I’m starting to feel a bit worried.
It’s been two weeks since I started seeing people get sick. And I’m beginning to realize that those news reports weren’t a scare tactic. This is for real. And things are getting bad. Most of the people I regularly associated with are gone. Taken to sick bay or whatever they do with them. I don’t know. I still haven’t shown any signs of it myself, which I am grateful for. But I’m worried. Not for myself. For my sister…
That night, I pull the letter out from the envelope as I lay down on my bunk, and look over the words carefully. She has graceful handwriting. Very elegant looking compared to my own chicken-scratch. It made me smile to imagine her taking her time to delicately write out each word carefully and perfectly.
I close my eyes thinking about it. About her. My little sister. I haven’t seen her since I arrived here, 7 months ago. It seems like its been so much longer. I keep imagining how different she must look now, but I know that she couldn’t have changed that much. I sigh. I pray to whatever God exists that she’s okay.
A week later, I receive another letter from her. As soon as my name is called, my heart races. It’s been nearly a month since the last letter, and I’m anxious to see how she’s doing. I hurry to my bunk as soon as I’m able, and crawl onto the bed, sitting cross legged against the wall. Seconds later I had the letter ripped from the envelope and begin reading quickly.
Her handwriting is not nearly as clean this time. It looks rushed, frantic, as if her hands had been shaking while she were writing. I press on, my eyes scanning every word over and over again. My heart begins to pound inside my chest. I feel as if I can’t catch my breath. The last words catch in my throat as I read them off the page…
Please, help me.
I didn’t sleep a wink that night. With the combination of people coughing and the racing thoughts in my mind, there was no way I could possibly hope to sleep. It had to be around 3am at this point, and I lay, staring at the bunk above, listening to the guy up there snoring away. I still hold the letter in my hand, my thumb slowly rubbing the edge of the paper raw as I try to figure out my next move. It feels impossible, but I have to get out of here.
