Logan

I awoke from my dream memory again, silent tears streaming down my face and sniffled. It had been one year since that day, one year of waking each night after the same dream, one year of reliving Rain and Lyra's death nightly. Lyra's blue eyes bored into my own as they began to cloud over.

I rose from my nest of rags and cardboard shivering in the cold air. I hated this place, and I hated them.

I slammed my fist into the wall and waited, both for my captors and for my knuckles to mend now that I'd broken them, again, punching cement. They'd be down soon to fetch me up to make breakfast. Their personal slave. The only one left.

I heard the rattle of the key in the lock and light flooded into my "room." There were no windows down here. No warmth or comfort. Just the same old rusty pipes and bare cement walls. It had been easier when the other captive children were still here. We had huddled together during the freezing winters and held each other when we cried. But they were all gone now