The Fire Within
The cell was a concrete box four feet by four feet, no windows, no mercy. A rusted bucket sat in the corner for bathroom use. A stack of hay served as a bed, topped with a blanket so stale it smelled like old sweat and forgotten years.
You'd think in a perfect city, they'd at least give you a toilet, Thomas thought, chuckling to himself.
Even here, even now, he refused to feel defeated. No matter how bad it got, he wouldn't break. He'd take on any challenge even if he was destined to lose. That fire in him? It never went out.
He leaned back against the wall, letting his thoughts drift to Edwin and Sophie.
He remembered a summer afternoon just the two of them, one-on-one on the cracked concrete court behind their old apartment. Thomas would shoot, and Edwin, the freak of nature he was, would block it, snatch the ball, and dunk with a force that rattled the rim and Thomas's pride.
He hated those matches. He always lost. But he never hated Edwin.
He loved him. Always had. Even when Edwin outgrew him in size, in strength, in almost everything else Thomas had made a vow. I'll always protect you, little brother.
That promise still burned in his chest.
Then, without warning, everything went black.
His eyes rolled back. The cell vanished. The concrete, the hay, the bucket are all gone.
Thomas was unconscious.