I get nostalgic when I think about my childhood. The games I played, the heroes I had. No troubles in the world, the bliss of feeling the sun on my skin when playing outside and inside - the adrenaline rush of slaying a wyvern on my computer as a Dragonborn. The euphoria I felt when my favorite hero defeated the dark lord on TV... and the sadness when I realized that this meant the end of the show. But life is no show. There is no guaranteed happy ending, no save point, no respawn... Or so i thought.

My live ended when I was locked into prison. My childhood, it was the reflection of a dirty young boy on the TV screen, a reflection that shared its space with damaged brickwalls, torn off wallpaper and flourishing mold. My mother did her best to shelter me from the world, but poverty breeds poverty. The fewest people are given the chance to rise above from where they come from. As fate would have it, years later when the roles were reversed and I had son to take care of, I would betray my principles; I would do what every good father would do, I would do whatever it takes to feed my son.

I will spare you the self pity and the details, I have already been ranting on too much. I live the consequences of my choices. They led me here, into this prison. Amongst the scum and the most vile creatures born of mankind.

Once you're inside nobody asks you why you did it. Once you are caught, you are one of them for the people on the outside, a criminal. Who cares about nuances when you are in jail? Rapist, murderers, drug dealers, gangbangers... People just presume you are one of them.

"Move your asses maggots!"

A police baton hit me in the back, breaking my thought.

"It's time to get going!"

We were being moved. The authorities, or so the wardens had said, were afraid of gang violence, so they decided to move some prisoners to another jail... Based on their skin color. I fit the bill.

It was a hot day, the stale air in the bus smelled like sweat and dirt, we were taken off the yard with no warning, no chance to grab the few things we owned. When I asked a warden go grab the picture of my son, he nearly knocked out my teeth. My cheek was swollen. The taste of blood was still filling my mouth 20 minutes later. The living hellhole if a bus finally got moving. A large orange worm slowly crawling up the mountain road. A route far off civilization, just were we belonged. My feet hurt, the chains were sawing through my ankles.

Sometimes I wondered what even kept me alive. I convinced myself that it was the rare chance to see my son again someday, but I knew that I was lying to myself. When I finally got out he'd hate me, he'd be ashamed of me. A dad that wasn't there. Nobody to make memories with. The person who left him all alone, after his mother had chosen the easy way out. God knows, in my darkest hours I envied her.

Screaming broke my train of thought.

"El Cartel!"

"Mierda!"

Suddenly my whole body felt weightless, brutal pain shot through my legs and hands as the chains forcibly kept me in place. For a split second I saw the shape of a truck through the remnants of shattered glass, as the bus brutally tumbled down the mountain. Pain. Darkness.

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"Do you want to live?"

A numbing, deep voice broke through the veil of darkness that had put my brain to sleep. Slowly my sense of self re-awakened. Memories paced through my head. The irony! Did I want to live? Wasn't my last memory tainted by pure envy and grim bitterness that my wife had hosen death? All my sorrows would be gone. Joyful silence. Peace. A grace... and yet, that nagging shimmer of hope which had driven me to do the unspeakable, it again took over. I hated it. What if there was a way? A way to get out of this? Resistance was futile. I did not have the strength to deny this frolicking shimmer, this will-o'-the-wisp. All by itself my mouth spoke the fateful word

"Yes"

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I woke up to the smell of burning wood and the noise of scared screams. Still dizzy and numb I opened my eyes. I did not recognize this place. Through the heavy smoke I could see a small village, my fellow inmates had been freed of their chains, houses were on fire and bloody bodies were scattered in the dirt. Right next to me, a man dressed strange medieval clothes, his head pierced by a pitchfork. The view, mixed with the dusty smoke and smell of blood, made me choke. I turned my hurting body just in time to unleash the contents of my stomach on the ground, rather than in my own face.

Had I gone to hell?

"You don't know what you are doing!", the voice of an old man surpassed the noise of the brutal pillaging.

I looked up. The man was on his knees, in front of him one of my "colleagues". The red liquid on the iron pipe in his hand was still fresh.

The old man's face was in pure shock, a reflection of unspeakable fright and horror. I had seen what a haunted man looks like and yet, this man, the expression on his face was past the fear of death, as he stared past his assailant

"He will see", his screams had turned into a whisper.

A blink of silence, the half of a breath had passed, as a roar shattered the silence - so forceful, so numbing, the whole world around us had stopped. Grown men, murderers, convicts and violent criminals froze. I had seen my fair share of shit, but even fucking Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries hadn't given me goosebumps like this - though Apocalypse Now would be an appropriate name for the terror descending upon us.

Red wings covered the sun, turning day to night, as fire rained upon the earth. This time the wyvern might just be the one slaying me.

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Note by the author:It's getting late here. I hope it has been captivating thus far. If this story is well received, I might continue later. Have a good day/night lads!