The walls are gray.

They always have been, but I wonder when their loud color became an itch in my brain. Those walls were one of the many obstacles keeping me from the outside.

I woke to see him sitting across from me. It was not the priest, but someone else. His tie was red, and his face was gone. He stared at me, though he had no eyes. Despite that, it seemed he saw more than I ever did. Holding a lighter in his right hand, his thumb was a tic that constantly rolled the wheel, only ever conjuring sparks.

My mind never let the lighter light, even though I always see beautiful flames in my dreams.

“Light it up. Burn it down.”

His voice was a grinder, chewing up my ears till pathetic scraps of flesh dangled from the sides of my head, and the blood ran down to pool in the hollow of my collarbone.

“Light it up.” I can’t.

“Burn it down,” I finished for him, but he was not done.

“Take a breath. Do you hear that sound?”

I shook my head. “No. Only you.”

He lifted his left hand to his nonexistent mouth to shush me. The finger he held up was long, with strips of skin torn off in a patchwork pattern and the nail missing—it was a duplicate of my own.

“It is loud and clear,” he mocked me, and my chest burned with anger. Shaking his head, he seemed defeated. “But a mere ringing in your ear.”

I blinked, and he was gone.

What led to the pyromaniac appearing? Some part of me knew it was because I wanted to burn this oppressive building to the ground, along with its inhabitants. The fury seared my bones, and sometimes I imagined the flames taking me with them as well.

I had begun to hate the small window. It teased me with what I could not reach, the blue sky only ever being replaced by the night.

Two days had passed, with nothing of interest happening. My ribs ached from a violent guard, and there was a pit in my stomach that made clear its annoyance. I heard the familiar clomp of feet making its way towards me, and I hoped something new would happen. Even if that something was my death.

Again, I was taken down the same hallway that led to the room where I had met the bald man. My heart thudded with trepid anticipation. I was the last to arrive, once again, and the others were in the same position they were the first time. It brought about an odd sense of déjà vu. Except today, the man who tortured us was already here, standing next to a tripod camera. He looked less composed compared to last time, and he had crease lines marking his eyes and mouth. It gave me some satisfaction that he was frustrated, and I hoped I was part of the cause.

“I have come to the conclusion that you animals are all useless. You have no information for me. So, I have chosen the only suitable course of action.” He pulled on a mask, and the men standing behind us soldiers did the same. Another hostile stepped behind the camera, and the masked man approached Isaac, the first in line.

He stood next to Isaac’s kneeling form and addressed the camera. “If you want your men back—alive—you will hand over the knowledge we ask for. The details will be sent along with this video. Now, I will give you a taste of what will happen if you choose to delay."

The man crouched next to Isaac, whose eyes were wild like an animal. Sweat flooded down his temples, and from here, I could see the violent shaking that made his torso convulse. The masked man pulled out a sharp-looking knife and stared Isaac down.

“For you… hmm, let's see. You are too talkative. I will be doing your superiors a favor.” He gestured to the man behind Isaac, who shouldered his rifle and held Isaac in a headlock. The leader wrenched Isaac's mouth open, and I heard a violent pop as he resisted.

“No… no, no, no. Stop, I told you what I know! You fucker, you can’t do this to me!”

Isaac shook his head desperately, trying to get away from the hold. “Exactly. You told me everything, so your mouth is useless now.” Grabbing Isaac’s tongue, he effectively shut him up. I watched as blood beaded to the surface as he pressed his sharp knife to the soft flesh. Muffled screams escaped Isaac’s throat.

It was a slow process, cutting off Isaac’s tongue. He writhed and bucked, which did not make it easy. However, the man was persistent, steadily slicing even though his hands were now slippery with blood. The severed tongue fell to the ground with a wet splat, and Isaac’s mouth hung open and his bent head led to blood soaking the floor. A cloth was roughly shoved into his mouth to prevent him from bleeding out.

Picking up the tongue, the man showed it to the camera with a smile twisting his face behind the mask. He then dropped it and turned towards Selley with barely hidden glee on his face. Sweat poured down his face, and he was no doubt wondering what would be his fate.

“You, you’re too quiet.” He looked down at Selley, like a man contemplating a piece of art. “Yes, you probably listen more than you speak, don’t you?” I had to give it to the guy. He was observant and got Selley’s personality down correctly.

I watched in idle fascination as Selley’s ears were cut off, the leader taking the right while the guard behind him took the left simultaneously. I had never heard him scream that loud. It persisted till the fleshy cartilage was severed, and Selley lay slumped over from the pain. He once again presented the parts to the camera before turning to James.

James was shaking so badly I feared he would rattle a piece of himself off without any help. A smile almost crossed my face at my sick joke, but I hid it as the masked man met my eyes. He looked at me with suspicion before turning back.

Laughing, he looked down at James' pitiful form. “You’re even more insignificant than the rest! I don’t think I even remember you.”

“F-fuck you, bitch.” Ah, James. False bravado to the end.

The man’s eyes grew hard. Grabbing James’ arm, he pressed his hand to the floor as the watchdog behind James pushed against his back to keep him in place. With no warning, the masked man heavily sliced through James’ fingers, and I watched as blood spouted out like a faucet. James’ eyes were fixed on his hand as he screamed and screamed. They pressed a cloth against his wounds like the others, and it only made him scream some more.

Once again, I was last. I watched as the bastard approached, crouching right in front of me. The position mimicked the last time we were face to face, only there was no table separating us. I watched his eyes as they filled with a surprising amount of hatred.

“I hate your eyes,” he spat with venom. “Always watching me, with no emotion. Are you a doll? Do you feel anything?” He waited, and I suspected he actually wanted me to answer. In the corner of my vision, the pyromaniac flicked his lighter.

“I feel plenty.” I felt the corners of my mouth tug up, and the man audibly snarled.

Steel arms from behind me grabbed my head as the man’s own went to take my eyes. The blade, warm with blood, dug into the corner of my eye socket, scraping against the muscles that controlled my eyeball. It cut delicate flesh as I snarled from the pain. My throat grew raw from screaming as the knife traveled behind my eye and cut whatever was connecting it to my head. Vision gone, and I distantly heard a plop as my eye dropped to the ground.

I focused my remaining eye on him, to glare in hatred one last time. Patience had left him, and he immediately stabbed my left eye with his knife. I felt every motion as he indelicately popped it out of its socket, and the muscles connected to my eye were ripped apart. My breathing was ragged by the time it was over, and I felt a cloth tie around my head and painfully press against my wounds.

I could not focus on any of what was said after my punishment. The only thing I was aware of was the throbbing where my eyes had been. Had he hated them so much? Only seeing my eyes twice, he had felt the need to take them from me. What gave him the right? I was his captive, and I had no say in anything. Whatever that vile man wanted in this place, he got. I was only a prisoner in his realm, stuck to suffer from his whims. A part of me got a perverse sense of satisfaction that he hated my gaze that much. That hatred was not fake, and I knew it had shaken him up, if only for a moment. If that was the final act of my eyes, I would not regret their loss.

I fell to the floor of my cell, unable to hold myself up. Wet blood pooled beneath my head, and the copper tang in the air settled on the back of my tongue and refused to leave.

It hurt, it hurt, there was so much pain. It was as if the pyromaniac had stuck his lighter in my eye socket and finally got it to light. Pain licked at the back of my head, and my desperate gasps for air filled my ears until I thought I would go crazy.

Sleep blessedly came at last as the pain became too much.

***

There was only darkness. Nothing else existed in my world, and nothing else mattered. I could only peer into the depths, imagining shadows and monsters crawling out to join my sightless contemplation.

Every other sense was unbearable. The mere brush against the floor caused pain to shoot up my arm. The drip of water from the ceiling was a spike in my ear, digging into my brain until it turned to mush. The smell of dried blood and sweat burned through my nose and throat, and I tasted it on my tongue.

It seemed my brain was trying to compensate for my lost sense, overstimulating the others to bring back normalcy. What use was my occipital lobe except to process what I see? Its primary function was no longer needed, and it was left grasping for a purpose.

Grandfather's grave then came to mind; he had raised me along with my grandmother in place of my parents. I had only visited his tombstone once, but never said anything to it like they always seem to do in the movies. Had I ever told him any of my secrets? I remember confiding in him once that I had never enjoyed being with anyone. He had only patted my back, and asked me, “Is it a crime to live as you are, when you are different from others?”

That question had followed me through life, and I now found it glaring at me through the tenebrous view. Surely it would be a crime in societal views if I killed someone outside of warfare. But that was now part of me. Is it a crime to see what I see? To only seem to enjoy the company of my own fabrications? I guessed I could no longer see them now. But, since they were part of my mind, couldn’t they also exist there? Or maybe they could only appear in my perceived reality. I wouldn’t know unless they showed up again.

I wondered if I would miss seeing anything. I had always enjoyed the view of the ocean, stretching endlessly to the horizon. The shifting sands beneath my feet had always fascinated me. The brilliant sky that was constantly changing would miss my gaze.

My eyes had been taken before I had the chance to weep.

***

Distant gunshots and rocking explosions woke me from my fitful sleep. I let myself hope that allies were coming to our rescue, and I would finally leave this prison of concrete.

Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I crawled to lean against the wall. My body was weak, and I dizzily swayed when I stood up with the help of the wall. Following it to the door, I tried its handle, finding it unlocked. It seemed my captors had been negligent, most likely because of my new handicap. Thanking them for their carelessness, I cautiously slipped out of my cell. I did not want to stay here and be a sitting duck.

I turned to the left once I exited, as it was the direction they had taken me to use the bathroom—I had once spotted a door that way that led to the outside. Using the wall as my crutch, I slowly moved down the hall. Listening closely for any approaching persons, I heard none; it seemed they were all occupied with the raging battle in the opposite direction.

Quickly making my way outside, I crouched next to the wall to try and avoid anyone seeing me. The warmth of the sun clued me in that it was still day. The heat and helplessness crushed my chest, and for a moment, I found I could not move. I did not know where I was, or if someone was watching my pitiful attempt at an escape only a foot away.

Pushing it away, I made my way along the outside wall and hit a corner. I guessed that this was the back of the building, since my cell was one of the rooms along this side. I walked along it for a while before deciding to part from my temporary crutch. Stepping away from the wall, I made my way into the emptiness. Progress was slow so I could avoid tripping over anything, but I quickly felt the terrain start to incline.

The ground was covered in rocks and dry bushes, and I was grateful for the cover of my pants but mourned my lack of boots. As the hill eventually leveled out, I hid in what seemed like a tall cluster of bushes, hoping I was not visible from the complex.

I do not know how long I waited. The sun beat upon my back, and the sounds of war finally dimmed down. I wondered who the victor was.

Listening with all my focus, I felt my heartbeat in my throat. Now blinded, I had no hope I could escape on my own. I needed help from allies and hoped that if they had won, they would think to look around the back.

Serendipitously, a door slammed open in the direction of the one I had exited from. I listened more intensely as conversation floated up to my hiding place.

“...crazy bastard. What was he doing, shooting into those empty rooms? It was almost as if he was trying to find a ghost.”

“More like fight one. And he was clearly losing.” I heard the strike of a match, then a heavy inhale.

“These guys were surprisingly easy to fight off. It was like they didn’t expect us at all!”

“I know. How could they not, sending a video like that?”

“Their encryption was shit, too.”

I had heard enough. Standing from my position, I raised my hands above my head so they wouldn’t accidentally shoot me. I made my way slowly back down the hill in the direction of the voices.

“Shit!” The clacking of guns raising into position was heard as the two men probably pointed their weapons at me. “The fuck are you?”

My voice was a pathetic croak. “Private Cain Miller, a soldier in Sergeant Macbeth’s squad.”

“Ah, you’re the missing one! The rest of the captured have already been found.” The man speaking approached me quickly, placing a hand on my back as he led me away.

“You were smart to hide out here. Some loco was shooting his rifle like a madman inside,” the other man told me.

“What did he look like?”

“Look like? That's kind of—well, he was big, bald, and ugly. Pretty sure he was the head honcho here.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah. I shot him before he could shoot me.”

I felt a savage grin twist my face before I could repress it. My only grievance was that I hadn’t shot him instead. If he was going to die anyway, I wish I could’ve killed him myself.

Nothing was said after that. They led me to a helicopter, where James, Selley, and Isaac had already been situated. A medic immediately came to my side as I sat, asking me questions about my health as he attached me to an IV drip.

Nothing was said between the four of us as we took off, and air rushed in the open door of the helicopter to painfully press against my wounded eye sockets. Shuddering, I rested my head against the back of my seat. It seemed almost anticlimactic. I was suddenly away from the hell I had been stuck in, and I had no part in my escape. Was it that easy?

In the darkness, I imagined the prison that was behind us burning in large flames, with the dead bodies inside turning to nothing but ash.