Heir of Embers

Narrative Sample

(A tattered journal found in a prison cell next to a pile of bones.)

[Most of the Journal's pages are too dirty to read. A few entries near the end are barely legible.]

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I was asleep when the plate of food came today. By the time I awoke, John had eaten my share along with his. I was so angry I beat him until I tired, which didn't take long. All he could do was yell "I'm sorry so sorry," over and over again, between sobs. A few of his bloody teeth are still lying on the floor.

I don't know if I really blame him. They barely feed us enough to sustain a single man, let alone the two of us. I don't even know why we're here. Whenever I ask John, since he's been here longer, he just starts crying and pulling his hair. It's distressing to see an old man in such a condition. I think I would pity him if I could feel anything besides starvation.

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I ate John's share of the food again today. I tell him he owes me for the other day. I wonder if he knows it's been over a week. All he does now is lie in the corner sobbing and mumbling. I wonder what kind of man he was before all of this. Does he have a family somewhere? A daughter perhaps, like mine? Oh god, Kara...
John's taken up chewing on his tattered shirt. I can count the ribs on him from across the cell. I'll let him eat tomorrow.

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John died last night.
I never let him have his share of food. Every time the plate would slide through the bars, his eyes would flash open and he would stare at me. I always told myself I would eat my share and then give the rest to him. "Just a little more," I told myself, until I had eaten all of it. Usually he would mutter something softly and close his eyes again.

Yesterday, his eyes stayed open. An hour had passed and yet those empty, dark eyes stared back at me. I yelled at him to stop. My yells became pleas and I promised him I would let him eat tomorrow. Still he stared. Finally, I threw the empty plate, hitting him square in the chest. He didn't move. I realized he was dead.

Somewhere in me I know that I should feel pity, that I should feel guilt, but all I can think about is "More food for me."

Oh Kara, would you even recognize me?