Harmony
2

Pixie woke up some time later in a strange room. She was no longer on a soft, comfortable couch. She also was saddled with a feeling all too depressingly familiar to her. She felt emotionally heavy, in the sense that she was weighed down by anxious thoughts.

Damn it! She had only dreamed those magical things. That crazy food machine. That weird village. It was escapism, that’s all it was. She tried to be kind to herself, but she just hurt all over. The memory loss was still there, too. That was the only thing that was the same here and in that fantasy place. As before, she couldn’t remember family, home, or anything else. All she knew was suffering, feeling heavy and being in pain. This was unfortunately very much a known state.

She was now in yet another place that was strange to her. This was despite the atmosphere, smells, sounds and sights having an overarching air of familiarity to them. Especially the heaviness and aches in pains she felt in many places in her body. It was as if she’d returned home after visiting a foreign country. However, in this case, her home was not welcoming, happy or secure.

It was nightmarish.

She felt as if she was locked up in a prison. She brought her awareness out of her body and looked around at her immediate surroundings. She had awoken on hard bed, with an uncomfortably flat and lifeless pillow, in a room that had virtually no other furnishings. There was a small toilet and wash basin in the corner of the room, and a window above her that let in a sparse amount of light. There was nothing else in the room except a drinking cup and a small number of books and other personal possessions on a shelf on the wall opposite her. She was wearing grey pants made of cotton, a short-sleeved shirt of the same material and some ordinary-looking leather shoes.

She was in a prison.

That miracle world was an invention in her mind, then. No sense dwelling on it. It was time to replace out more about where she was and try to remember something, anything. She got up and stood at full stretch, up onto her toes, to peer out of the only window in the cell, which was high on the back wall, opposite the door. She couldn’t see much. Firstly, the window was dirty, and there was only the vague outline of some trees. There was no movement as far as she could tell. She stood back down on her feet again. Her head began to ache. She wanted desperately to be back in that beautiful village with the wonderful food machine and all the peace and nice thoughts.

Suddenly and alarmingly, a loud buzzer went off. She physically flinched in response, trying to recoil to somewhere safe in a place where there was no such thing. The latch to the steel door on her cell clicked. She presumed this meant it was now open. She slowly moved towards the door to check it out. The movement caused her head to throb. A quick glance to her right at the small mirror above the sink showed a dishevelled young blonde woman, with long wavy hair desperately needing a wash and a face registering stress in multiple layers.

The door was indeed open. Was she allowed to leave? She shuffled to the door and cautiously peered outside into what was a narrow corridor. She expected to replace guards, but there weren’t any. All she saw was other prisoners, male and female, young and old, slowly venturing out of their cells. Their walking gaits were slow and measured, without joy. They were all heading in the same direction, too. They moved without thought, as far as she could tell; their faces registered no emotion, no interest in anything. Their movements appeared practiced, as if they’d been doing this sort of thing for an interminable amount of time. There was no hope in them at all. It was quite a depressing sight.

Yet she followed them. She wanted to ask them why they were all going the same way. It was mindless and nonsensical to copy something so obviously wrong, but when the only other option was staying in her cell and doing nothing at all, she felt she had no choice. At least this might lead somewhere.

As she shuffled out through the door, she discovered how trashy and uncomfortable her leather shoes were. Once in the hallway, she tried to talk to the other prisoners. “Where are we going? I can’t remember anything – please help me!”

A few turned to look at her but did not respond. The others seemed to not to have even heard her. Their collective response was disheartening. Just when she thought she couldn’t feel any more defeated, she had now sunk to a new level.

She stopped trying to talk to them for now. She at least wanted to see where they were going, and then she might try to talk to them some more. She followed them out into an open-air courtyard, which soon led to a much wider expanse of pathetic looking grass that surely hadn’t been watered or mowed in months. Some people were talking quietly amongst themselves. Some of her fellow inmates – she supposed she could call them this – were playing dice games, and some were setting up some tables and chairs in a rough sort of line, perhaps for a market or something. That was hopeful. A few were trying to laugh and be happy, but the forced nature of these acts was obvious to her.

She walked over to the makeshift market and began to help set up some of the stalls. She got a few muttered thanks in response, but the people didn’t genuinely care. She abandoned her earlier notions of trying to talk to them and went along with how things were for the present. The tables indeed were part of some sort of market. The prisoners were unloading some boxes of second-hand goods and hand-crafted items, to be sold presumably amongst themselves. She checked her pockets. No money at all. She wouldn’t be buying anything. She wasn’t sure she wanted to anyway, as the sad array of items unloaded so far were not in the least bit exciting or interesting.

The strangest aspect of this prison so far was the lack of visible guards. Why was that? She stopped helping for now. A better plan might be to walk around for a bit and replace some guards. Maybe she could explain her loss of memory and ask to see a doctor. Her head was still aching, so perhaps she had indeed had some sort of knock that had caused the amnesia.

Pixie left the table she’d been helping at. The other prisoners didn’t even care that she’d stopped helping. She reflected on this disinterest, the derelict state of her cell, and the lack of anything remotely positive outside here. There was not a single smile visible anywhere. A more depressing environment was surely not possible on this Earth. How in the heck did she get here?

She walked along next to one of the walls in the courtyard, glancing among the prisoners, but seeing only grey prison uniforms like the one she was wearing. No guards were anywhere in sight. Shuffling sadly along, with no purpose or direction, she felt defeated. Despite this, she lifted her head up and scanned the horizon, hoping for something positive to cling onto. If possible, there might be some other coloured clothing than just grey. Something different and perhaps mildly interesting. What she discovered instead was something entirely unexpected.

There were no walls.

In the distance was a reasonably dense forest of pine trees, and a local road going through the middle of it that could possibly lead anywhere. Her previous defeated mood changed to astonishment. She turned back towards the prisoners, mystified that they had not realised there were no walls. How could they not have? Still no guards anywhere, and no walls either? What sort of prison was this? It made no sense. How could the prisoners not have woken up to this situation previously and tried to leave? What was keeping them here?

Were they here voluntarily? Surely not. Why would anyone volunteer to be in a prison? Did they not know they were imprisoned? Maybe that was it. They evidently lived their lives constrained in many invisible ways, not ever thinking they could escape. How could they not comprehend this? The evidence was right in front of them, but they chose not to pay attention to it. Instead, they perceived walls where there were none. They imagined guards where there weren’t any. How had this come about? She knew she must help these people, whoever they were. She would put a stop to this. She could see the lack of walls; they couldn’t, although she had no idea why. She would make them understand.

“You don’t need to be here!” she called, quite loudly. It felt risky, but she had to try to wake them out of their slumber. A few heads turned in her direction. She could see some sympathetic looks. Even a few forced smiles. Then she saw one woman displaying pity for her. What the hell for? Pitying me for seeing through this charade? Why? She was angry now.

“Just leave! Look! Beautiful trees; roads leading to better places! You can leave!” She was shouting now. More heads turned, but the expressions on the faces of those who had turned to see what all the commotion was about were mostly sympathetic or disinterested. More than a few were annoyed with her for disturbing their activities. A few curious expressions were visible amongst the rest of them. This gave her hope. She was about to continue to shout encouragement when the prison bell rang again. The activities stopped, and the prisoners started packing up and moving back inside.

She was so astonished that it took a few moments for her to react. Even more impassioned than before, she screamed at them to listen to her. That they were free. That they didn’t need to stay here. Her anxiety was beginning to turn to terror. She even felt she should follow them and be there for them if they needed her. No, that was worse. Going back in with these people was worse. If they weren’t going to listen to her out here, why would they listen inside? She would also have to go back to her cell, and there was no way she was going to do that now that she understood the nature of this prison. If she could even call it that. She screamed even louder.

“Don’t go! Stay with me! I’ll help you replace a way! We can escape together and have a better life! You have to listen to me!” It was no good. They weren’t listening. Or maybe they were. Something was happening. There were flashes of movement out of some of the prison doors. The prisoners were becoming agitated. Some were crying out. It was the guards; there were guards. Worst of all, they were all headed in her direction.

She had a head start, though. Something told her she was a good runner. She took off as fast as she could, her mind racing. She would outrun them into the forest and then replace a way to escape. A brief flash of hope rose within her. Her shoes were trash, her body was still in pain, her head still ached. Yet she ran as fast as she could.

She glanced backwards. They had gained on her. She tried to run faster and then again glanced back briefly. They were even closer now, and the expressions on their faces conveyed that they were certain that they were going to get her. They didn’t even look entirely human. That was perhaps the most terrifying thought of all. She would never make it; they would capture her and take her back inside to her cell. Maybe they would torture her first. This was entirely possible. Terror rose within her. She began to stumble as she tried to increase her pace.

It was too late. They were almost on her. She screamed. It was some combination of no and help, not really a word. The intensity of her own scream was most frightening and disturbing aspect of it all. They were about to capture her. The lack of walls made sense now. No-one could outrun the guards. She was stuck here, forever. It was horrifying.