Ender's Log

The following pieces of manuscript were found floating on the shores of the now defunct dungeon, La Wom de Ashle, a prison similar to La Bastille but not as notorious. They are pieced together in what seems to be a sequential order.

I’ve been in this cell for as long as I can remember. Any memories I had before being in here have been wiped away. My mind is blank, void of substance. I don’t even know my name, or what I am, or what I look like. It’s always dark, pitch black like a starless night; my captors don’t even have the decency to give me a candle. Or food for that matter, which is somewhat peculiar. I’ve never eaten or drank in here, but I’m not starving. Perhaps they are drugging and then feeding me intravenously. On many occasions, I’ve gone to sleep hungry only to have awoken with a full stomach. I do know my captors are evil. Not only am I confined to the smallest of spaces, they feel the need to tether me to the wall with some sort of chain attached to my abdomen. I’ve tried yanking on this chord, but it is impervious to anything I try to do to sever it, and I’ve given up trying to remove it. Fortunately, it is rather long and doesn’t impede my movements, although I do have to be careful so as not to accidentally wrap it around my neck…

I’ve had no direct physical contact with those that imprison me, but I know they are near, watching me, monitoring me. I can hear them, their voices garbled. If I listen real close, I can make out the occasional word. I know there are at least two guards that are monitoring me on a regular basis, as I’ve grown to recognize their voices. One is male and one is female, and I think the female is guarding me the majority of the time. The male’s voice…I don’t hear it as often. Perhaps he’s in charge of my captivity and only comes along periodically to check on my status. He doesn’t say much. In fact, he always seems to say the same thing: Hiender. I’ve no idea what ‘hiender’ means; obviously this guard is the less intelligent of the two. The female says many things, but the two I recognize most often are ‘Hey buddy’ and ‘Come on Auburn!” which is usually shouted. The first seems like a greeting, while the second can only be some sort of tribal war cry…

I’ve performed numerous checks of my cell, and I’m convinced my captors are shrinking its size. I can no longer stretch my arms from side to side without touching the walls and my ability to maneuver is diminishing. But there is hope. The walls are not as solid as I once thought. My cell is more like a flexible membrane. I’ve tested all areas and if I push hard enough, the walls move outward. I thought I might be able to apply enough pressure, pierce the membrane and break free. Unfortunately, it seems that every time I push too hard, one of the guards pushes back. My captors are quite vigilant—they know every move I make. Every place I try, they are there, pushing against me. This frustrates me, and at one point, I lost it. I started kicking and punching and spinning around until I exhausted myself. The walls are closing in on me, and I don’t know what to do…

The cell continues to shrink, and I get the sense I’m sinking lower and lower. Still, all hope is not lost because I think someone might be working on the outside to help me break free. The other morning, I was resting when I felt something touch my head for only the briefest of seconds. I thought I might have imagined it, but a week later, the same thing happened. This time, I was ready, and quickly investigated the area from which the touch came. Oh euphoria! There is a small, minuscule opening, no larger than a pencil width. I think I can even see the vaguest of light. Someone has bored a passageway for me to use to escape. I don’t know how I could ever fit through something so small, yet I do know I can’t survive much longer in this cell. I must make an effort to increase the size of this opening. Hopefully, my friend on the other end will continue his efforts to do the same. I’ve tried numerous positions, but the best leverage I get is when I place my head over the opening and push downwards. The guards don’t seem to know I’m doing this, so I can only hope the escape passage is unknown to them. I have perhaps another week before the cell becomes unlivable. I hope I can increase the size of the opening. It’s going to be tight but I think I can manage…

There is no more manuscript. No one knows the fate of this prisoner, if these writings are valid or if they are simply fabrications of an idle mind…