Enclosed spaces challenge: Dark, by minnow1212
Title: Dark
Author: minnow1212
Gen. Spoilers through The Storm/The Eye
856 words
Thanks to Katie_m for taking a look at this.
Sora saw enough before the mission failed to know that they have dark places here, but they do not keep her in one. Her room--her cell--has a window high off the ground, thick and tinted pale yellow. For several hours every afternoon, it throws patterns of light across the walls and floor.
She has not spent so many hours in sunlight since she was a child.
Sora learned years ago how light and dark can be used as simple, effective weapons. She knows from training exercises how unnerving it is to be locked in a small dark space, alone and blinded; and she had the assurance, that time, that she would be released when the exercise was over. She knows that light too can be debilitating, when it is bright and glaring and forces you to squint or keep your face always turned away, or shines red against your closed eyelids. If her jailors kept her in some small dark subterranean cell, or even if they kept her in this spacious room, but chained her in such a way that the sun would fall relentlessly on her face every afternoon--but they do not.
They bring her food three times a day, generally promptly. The room has an alcove with bathroom facilities and running water. They bring her new towels, new sheets, and clean clothes as necessary. Dr. Weir visited Sora the second night she was here, voice polite but eyes cool, telling her that she could request items if she wished but their resources were limited, and of course she would not be allowed anything that could be used as a weapon against herself or others. They refused her request for pen and paper, but they bring her maxi pads when she requests extra cloths during her monthly time.
They do not restrict her movement within the cell, although she is sure they are monitoring her. This prohibits her from weeping.
For the first six days, she heard their announcements: Dumais to report to a laboratory, Wilson to come to the Gate room, Dr. Beckett urgently needed in the infirmary. A week into her imprisonment, two soldiers entered, loosely cuffed her wrists and ankles, and escorted her out to the hallway. They stood guard over her, impassive but alert, faces closed and blank against her. Their faces did not show any hatred, that she had been part of a force that had killed their comrades, but they must have felt it. She raised her chin and did not ask them any questions. They stood in silence and watched as several other Atlanteans--Dr. McKay among them--passed them, carrying a ladder, and entered the room. The door blocked her line of sight, but she heard low snatches of conversation, McKay’s voice saying something about localized blocking and security and information. After ten minutes, a disembodied voice said, "This is a test of the speaker system," and a minute later McKay and the others came out chatting with each other. The others averted their eyes from her as they passed, but Dr. McKay looked directly at her, something smug and hard and satisfied in his eyes. Her cell has been silent ever since.
She spends time every day searching the walls for the panel that must be there to control the lights and sound and door access--the ladder might have been an indication that it is too high to reach unassisted, but that could have been a bluff to stop her from attempting to find it--but it is melded in seamlessly enough that she cannot spot it.
Teyla visits once a week, short and perfunctory, to confirm that Sora is not being mistreated. She nods to the guards as she enters the room, greeting them by name. They leave the door open during her visits, and instruct Sora to remain seated on the bed. Teyla stands out of jumping or leaping range and gazes down at her, calm and patient and distant. Something makes Sora ask, each time, what happened on the hive ship; she wants to hear Teyla deny responsibility for her father’s death. But after the first time, Teyla only says firmly that she has answered that question and will justify herself no further.
Left in solitude, Sora creates her own schedule. In the mornings, she paces ten strides one way and twelve in the other. She mentally repeats the facts she knows about Atlantis and its personnel to keep them fixed in her head against the time they might be of use. She pours water into a plastic cup and traces equations, shapes, and poems memorized in childhood on the walls, where they gleam for a moment before dripping down and evaporating. In the afternoons, she does exercises, moving through the patches of sunlight and feeling her muscles stretch.
Sometimes Sora thinks that her people began their work underground, spurred on by duty and fear of the Wraith, so that they might someday have a life similar to this: there is light here, and space, and freedom from duty.
Sora moves through the sunlight, and wishes for the dark.
END
Author: minnow1212
Gen. Spoilers through The Storm/The Eye
856 words
Thanks to Katie_m for taking a look at this.
Sora saw enough before the mission failed to know that they have dark places here, but they do not keep her in one. Her room--her cell--has a window high off the ground, thick and tinted pale yellow. For several hours every afternoon, it throws patterns of light across the walls and floor.
She has not spent so many hours in sunlight since she was a child.
Sora learned years ago how light and dark can be used as simple, effective weapons. She knows from training exercises how unnerving it is to be locked in a small dark space, alone and blinded; and she had the assurance, that time, that she would be released when the exercise was over. She knows that light too can be debilitating, when it is bright and glaring and forces you to squint or keep your face always turned away, or shines red against your closed eyelids. If her jailors kept her in some small dark subterranean cell, or even if they kept her in this spacious room, but chained her in such a way that the sun would fall relentlessly on her face every afternoon--but they do not.
They bring her food three times a day, generally promptly. The room has an alcove with bathroom facilities and running water. They bring her new towels, new sheets, and clean clothes as necessary. Dr. Weir visited Sora the second night she was here, voice polite but eyes cool, telling her that she could request items if she wished but their resources were limited, and of course she would not be allowed anything that could be used as a weapon against herself or others. They refused her request for pen and paper, but they bring her maxi pads when she requests extra cloths during her monthly time.
They do not restrict her movement within the cell, although she is sure they are monitoring her. This prohibits her from weeping.
For the first six days, she heard their announcements: Dumais to report to a laboratory, Wilson to come to the Gate room, Dr. Beckett urgently needed in the infirmary. A week into her imprisonment, two soldiers entered, loosely cuffed her wrists and ankles, and escorted her out to the hallway. They stood guard over her, impassive but alert, faces closed and blank against her. Their faces did not show any hatred, that she had been part of a force that had killed their comrades, but they must have felt it. She raised her chin and did not ask them any questions. They stood in silence and watched as several other Atlanteans--Dr. McKay among them--passed them, carrying a ladder, and entered the room. The door blocked her line of sight, but she heard low snatches of conversation, McKay’s voice saying something about localized blocking and security and information. After ten minutes, a disembodied voice said, "This is a test of the speaker system," and a minute later McKay and the others came out chatting with each other. The others averted their eyes from her as they passed, but Dr. McKay looked directly at her, something smug and hard and satisfied in his eyes. Her cell has been silent ever since.
She spends time every day searching the walls for the panel that must be there to control the lights and sound and door access--the ladder might have been an indication that it is too high to reach unassisted, but that could have been a bluff to stop her from attempting to find it--but it is melded in seamlessly enough that she cannot spot it.
Teyla visits once a week, short and perfunctory, to confirm that Sora is not being mistreated. She nods to the guards as she enters the room, greeting them by name. They leave the door open during her visits, and instruct Sora to remain seated on the bed. Teyla stands out of jumping or leaping range and gazes down at her, calm and patient and distant. Something makes Sora ask, each time, what happened on the hive ship; she wants to hear Teyla deny responsibility for her father’s death. But after the first time, Teyla only says firmly that she has answered that question and will justify herself no further.
Left in solitude, Sora creates her own schedule. In the mornings, she paces ten strides one way and twelve in the other. She mentally repeats the facts she knows about Atlantis and its personnel to keep them fixed in her head against the time they might be of use. She pours water into a plastic cup and traces equations, shapes, and poems memorized in childhood on the walls, where they gleam for a moment before dripping down and evaporating. In the afternoons, she does exercises, moving through the patches of sunlight and feeling her muscles stretch.
Sometimes Sora thinks that her people began their work underground, spurred on by duty and fear of the Wraith, so that they might someday have a life similar to this: there is light here, and space, and freedom from duty.
Sora moves through the sunlight, and wishes for the dark.
END