Glowing lanterns illuminate the damp hallway. Two guards, to their disgust and frustration, went down the hallway lined with rusty metal bars. Some of the prisoners scream their lungs out. Some call for their deaths and antagonize them. Some agonize and regret their decisions, admitting to their wrong doings and seek mercy. Some like my mother do not say a word and silently look at them with cold indifference.

  They stop in front of my cell. The lanterns brighten up the rock-layered cell. There was only a bucket, water dripping from the ceiling, and two pale, lanky people just barely holding onto life. My mother placed the bucket filled with our waste to the guards.

  "Put it back in the corner," he says with disgust and authority.

  The other guard opens the cell and walks towards me. My mother stood in front of him. Her voice sounded hoarse and tired, "What do you want?"

  The guard ignores her and holds the lantern in front of my face. The tongues of flames slightly sting, forcing my eyes to shut. He holds it near my neck and scoffs.

  "How old is she again?"

  My mother took a few moments to respond, hesitating to give any information, "HE is 14."

  He rubs chin and pulls my hair. My mother grabs his arm, but he backhands her. Without a weapon, without the authority to kill, I doubt she would go further. And I was right. I was pulled out of my cell and left my mother to wail and beg for me to return to her.

  She screamed at the top of her lungs, "Please! Bring her back! Don't do this to a child! Please! I... I need him!"

  Just before we turned the corner, her voice filled with rage, "I will by the doors in hell for you! I will find you and kill you over and over again! I will not rest until I see my son again! Do you hear me?! When I find you-"

  She continued to curse them and their families. Inspired by her, I protested just the same, but my strength and voice was not enough to even sway the guard. I doubt he even noticed that I tried to pull.

  Rusty chains rattle and cling to my arms. They places these chains on me, similar to my mother. As I walk, I see that I was not alone. There are others who look to be at the same age and others who are still in cells, waiting for their time with their mothers.

  One of them whisper to me, "Do you know where we are going?"

  Just when I was going to answer, a whip cracked in the air. I was in a world of pain. It was something I have never experience, even when my mother disciplined me. I stumbled and laid down onto the floor wailing from the pain. The whip belonged to an older guard. He looked back and said with a intimidating glare:

  "Be silent. I will not repeat myself -- But if I do, I will not do so with my voice."

  A crack echoed through the hallway scaring the children. I was pushed back onto my feet. I did not want to experience that again.

  But I knew -- No determined. I was determined to see this man to experience the same amount of hurt that I just did. I will make it happen. It won't be anytime soon, but I swear. He will pay for slicing my back open.

  After hours of walking through this damp dungeon, the crowd of kids started to limp. They focused their weight on one leg and shifted it to the other. My legs, too, were in anguish. It didn't help the fact that my back was still on fire. In fact, I was limping the most out of all of us. I cursed under breath to make the pain that much more bearable.

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  As if they finally realized our pain, they brought us to a room. It was well-let with sleek black walls surrounding it. It looked at it and it felt like an abyss. It was so dark that I hardly see my reflection, only seeing a shape of my figure.

  It had a few seats that were connected to one of the walls. A girl looked at the guards with a look of innocence. Anyone could recognize she was asking to sit without saying a word. To everyone's surprise, he nodded, giving his approval. She slowly walked up and kept looking at the guards. She sat down on the seat and looked afraid. One more person joined him and another joined him. Soon, all of the chairs were filled. I didn't sit down. As much as I would kill to sit down, I couldn't trust them. There must be a catch. I would rather cut off my hand than believe that these animals wouldn't want to kill us for even thinking of taking a seat.

  They sat down for a while looking at us with a huge smile. I'm sure they felt like they were superior. One kid did not like that. He was taller and larger than the other kids. I had a hard time believing he was my age. He looked down at one of the children who was sitting down:

  "Move. That's my spot."

  "N-No," mumbled the scared girl, "I sat down first and they let me," he points at one of the guards.

  The guards stared back in indifference and shrugged. The scared child looked back at the hulking kid and watched as the boy violently pushed him out of his seat. None of us moved or even said a word. They looked at the guards for any hint of disapproval, but they looked as if they couldn't care less.

  A buzz rang out of one of the guard's chest. He lifted this solid black piece and answered, "This is the 87 ...Understood."

  When the buzzing stopped, he led the other guards to leave.

  It was as if the doors shut made my pain accelerate. Every bone in my body was crying for me to attend to my wounds. My legs aches started to throb. My back still burned from the lashing I received and in fact, stung deeper. As I kept watching the satisfied people who sat down... I wanted so badly to toss one of them out of there. I wanted to bust open their knees to make them feel the same pain as I'm feeling.

  I'm not alone in that feeling.

  Someone's voice yelled. He had more holes in his clothes than mine and had more hair covering his body. Instead of being pale, like my face, his face was tanned:

  "Get off! My legs are killing me!"

  Tired, the girl in front of him responded, "My feet... They're still red and they still hurt."

  Another kid told for her to get out. A crowd surrounded her. When their voice wasn't enough to move her, their physical strength was. She gets pushed down to the floor. Blood flowed out of the opened wound on her head. She crawls next to me and joined me on the floor. We both watch as the children fight each other. They pull on their hair and scratch each other. Their fights escalated. They punched, kicked, and slammed one another. Somewhere in the fight I heard a crunch. The losers of the fight joined me on the floor. They lick their wounds and groan with pain. At least I wasn't the only one with a wound, but probably the only one with a deep one.

  "I-I'm sorry for before."

  The voice came from the girl who lost her seat. She had scales all over her body, but it didn't look like a reptile. It looked softer and flexible. Her voice sounded like a squeaky mouse. She is as scared and timid as her voice, but it was familiar. After a moment, I realized this was the girl from before. She was the reason I was whipped.

  I was told an apology makes even invisible wounds disappear. It seems that not only was what I told was false, this apology only made my wounds feel deeper. It felt more than just physical pain. It felt personal.

  As much I wanted to scream at her, I stayed silent, but that didn't mean I was courteous or respectful. I wanted her to hurt, even just a little. Spite flashed on my face briefly and turned around, showing my back. The red wound, while it wasn't as terrible as before, it displayed a blood red. I can tell she felt the pain from the whip. The tunic kept dipping into my wound's flesh and blood which made someone other than myself uncomfortable. She covered her mouth with her hands.

  "I'm so sorry," she cried quietly. She moves to the corner and curls into a ball.

  The "winners" from the fight all finally sat down on the seat with pride displayed in their smiles. They mock us and taunt us to get up. The people on the floor looked at their "superiors" with distain and anger. I could hear them whisper:

  "Just one chance. Just one chance and I'll make them pay."

  "I'll make them regret it."

  A moment later, the door opens and the guard from before stands before us. He orders us to walk with him. The ones who won their seats walked to them first while the others gave pause. They cracked a whip and they no longer hesitated and joined the rest of the group.