The Cage: 2. The Hunger

The first night blurred into the second. She didn’t know how many hours passed between the dimming of the overhead light and its return. Time slipped strangely inside the cage, dripping by in silence, broken only by the hum of the light and the rasp of her own breath.

He had given her food—bread, cheese, water. Nothing more. He slid the tray inside without a word and watched her eat as if it was part of an experiment. She hadn’t touched the first plate, fury and pride twisting inside her chest, but by the next morning her stomach clawed at her insides. She ate in silence, shame burning her throat with every swallow.

That was the first crack.

Now, she sat curled against the wall, knees hugged to her chest, eyes fixed on him. He was always there. That was the cruelest part. Always in the chair just outside her cage, silent, steady. Sometimes he read a book. Sometimes he simply watched. She wondered if he ever slept.

Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke.