Forgotten

I whispered to the moon, "Can you hear me?"

I needed to someone to listen in on what was weighing me down. For once, I didn't seem to care even though I was shackled to a brick wall awaiting a sentence. My jacket was now in shreds and the zipper ruined beyond repair, much how I felt. I was in a fight with myself with the stress and pressure closing in. Nothing much was new, but for some reason, those obstacles seemed to stay afar as though I had cast a shield around my soul. However, I knew that this was only a temporary solution. I wasn't strong enough to deal with this on my own.

My slender shadow flowed gently against the concrete floor as if to prove my point. You cannot allow shadows to define yourself. I'm not one to follow my own advice. I could still picture her face and wished she was next to me for support, if not help. I didn't realize how much I counted on her until now. I wouldn't dare reveal that, for fear she too would buckle under imaginary pressure.

Dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford, so I sat there and cried with no one to wipe my face. The salty tears crawled down my dirty cheeks, cleaning my battered face. There's nothing worse than silently suffering.

Any moment now, I was to be unchained and forced to put a bold line through my name in the roster, initiating my "resignation" from The Underground. There wasn't much time left, and I was trying to make the most of it. I revisited the best times of my life. An escape plan wasn't possible, and because I ignored that possibility, I relived those times we sat on the porch swing and the visits in the basement of that broken home. They were all gone, and soon I would join them among the forgotten victims of a civil war.

I saw hope in that full moon and looked up to it in search of an answer.