Chapter no.5 Mysterious Murals

The room where I was trapped was dark and damp, with a kind of wet air that stuck to your skin. Green, fuzzy moss grew all over the walls, and mushrooms with a strange, soft glow were my only source of light. They were scattered around, offering just a tiny bit of brightness in a sea of darkness. A big, sturdy metal door kept me inside this gloomy place, and it never seemed to move, not even a bit.

Days turned into weeks, and I could feel myself starting to lose grip with reality. Desperation took a strong hold of me, and in a wild moment, I found myself ramming into the door, trying to escape. But all it did was hurt me, especially my shoulder, which now felt broken and useless. I had tried to use my teeth as a weapon, thinking of biting anyone who might come in, but as the days turned into more weeks, nobody came to help or hurt me.

The only sign of anyone else being there was when food was given to me. But even that was strange because it came at different times every day. Sometimes, it was only a few hours after I woke up, while other times it felt like an eternity. The randomness of it left me always guessing and hungry, not knowing when the next bit of food might arrive. I wondered if this was part of some twisted game my captors were playing, or if they were far away.

The food they gave me was not enough, and it was weird. It was some kind of meat, but it was covered in a strong, spicy flavor that I couldn't quite place but somehow recognized. It was familiar, yet unsettling. Every bite made me wonder what it was that I was putting in my mouth.

Talking to myself, I quietly said, "What the hell am I eating?" Looking at the small piece of meat, all I felt was a mix of hunger and fear.

"Is it even meat? It looks like some kind of gristly, unidentifiable sludge shat out from the bowels of a greasy fat woman for her husband's scat fetish."

As more time went by, I started to notice that there was less and less meat given to me, and the time between meals was getting longer and longer. My stomach would make loud, hungry sounds, and I was feeling weaker with every day that passed. It seemed like the people who had put me in here were trying to starve me on purpose, to make me weak and hopeless.

"They're trying to break me," I thought to myself as I lay on the cold, wet floor. "They want to see me suffer. They want me to fall apart."

My hunger got so bad that my mind started playing tricks on me. I began to see scary things in the dark, weird creatures that seemed to hide just out of reach of the light from the mushrooms. Their eyes would shine in the dark, their teeth would show in the faint light, and I could hear them whispering in the old, wet air.

"I'm losing my mind," I whispered to myself, huddling in the corner and pulling my knees tight against my chest. "This place is making me crazy."

It wasn't only the hunger that was making me lose it. I started hearing voices, telling me to try to understand the secrets of the pictures on the walls. They whispered things to me, saying they would give me answers and save me if I could just figure out what the strange symbols carved into the stone meant. The voices were kind of comforting but also really scary, and I felt both attracted and scared of them.

"What do you want from me?" I asked the room, even though it was empty, as the voices got louder and wouldn't stop. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

I knew I had to get out of this terrible prison and away from this nightmare. But my body was so weak, and my mind was breaking. Time was running out, and it seemed like the people who caught me were enjoying seeing me in pain. The only thing that gave me a tiny bit of hope was the weird pictures on the walls. I felt like they were the key to getting out of here, and I would do whatever I had to do to understand their secrets.

•••••••••••••••••••

Time keeps moving, it never waits. No matter how much you want to do something, only time will show what will happen. Choices are so important because you can't change them once they are made. Even if we think of time as something we made up, it still feels like it's slipping away slowly, doesn't it?

I didn't know if time was passing in my dark, damp prison. I couldn't even guess how long I had been here. The person who brought me food never spoke; they just opened a small window once a day, showed a weird symbol, and gave me something to eat - if you could even call it food.

I was all alone, and I started thinking about the drawings on the walls. They felt like they were alive, whispering secrets in a language I didn't understand.

"Do you know something I don't?" I asked the drawings, moving my finger over the detailed shapes and symbols on the stone. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

I knew it was crazy to talk to pictures on the wall like they were people, but being all alone was making me lose my mind. I needed something to hold onto to keep me from going completely mad.

"You are my only friends," I quietly told myself, looking at the drawings of fruit and other things on the walls. "You're the only ones who understand what I'm going through, right?"

Every day, I spent hours looking at the drawings, trying to figure out what they meant. I believed that they knew how I could escape, and that figuring out their secrets was my only way out of this terrible prison.

As more time went by, I became more and more obsessed with the drawings. I started thinking of them as living things, with their own thoughts and wants. I talked to them, asked them questions, and listened for their whispers in the dark.

"It's like you're trying to talk to me," I said to myself, moving my fingers over the rough stone. "But what are you trying to say?"

The drawings had a strange power over me that I couldn't explain. They were the only thing that made me feel better in this dark, lonely place, and I held onto them like they were saving me.

"I have to understand you," I whispered to the drawings, my eyes looking closely at the detailed pictures of fruit and other things on them. Even though I didn't understand the symbols, I could see that the language was made up of 26 unique shapes, just like the Alifazmiyya language I had learned from Aisha. I felt a little better, knowing I could figure it out.

"You hold the key to saving me," I said, feeling a strong sense of purpose and determination inside me. It was clear that I was not the first person to be trapped here, but what had happened to the others before me?

Even though I didn't know what would happen, I looked to the drawings for comfort and guidance. They spoke to me in a way no person ever could, giving me hope that there was a way out of this prison.

As I became more obsessed with the drawings, I felt my mind starting to break. I was close to going crazy, but I couldn't stop myself from looking at and thinking about every little detail of the symbols on the stone.

For hours and hours, I would follow the lines of the images, trying to find the secrets hidden inside them. I knew I had to figure out the language, both for my own mind and for any chance of escaping.

...

I was stuck in this dark, wet prison for what felt like forever. My only friends were the walls, covered in old paintings with moss growing on them. Day after day, I became more and more focused on trying to figure out the strange language on the paintings. I spent many hours looking at the shapes and symbols, trying to connect each letter to the alphabets of Alifazmiyya.

"Do you know how to get out of here?" I asked the walls, my voice shaking a little. "Do you have the key to setting me free?"

"Please, show me how to leave," I pleaded, moving my fingers over the detailed symbols. "I can't handle this any longer. I need to leave."

But the walls didn't say anything, keeping their secrets locked inside the stone.

I felt so frustrated and couldn't stop myself from getting angry.

"Alright, keep your secrets!" I yelled, and kicked the wall as hard as I could. Pain shot through my foot and I hopped around before falling to the floor, hurting. "I hurt you, and you hurt me. We're even now, so tell me what you know!"

But the walls stayed quiet.

"Fine, I won't talk to you then," I declared. I spent all my time walking along the walls of my prison, touching them, trying to find any weak spots or ways out. I walked so much that my feet became tough and my legs ached. The food that was given to me once a day wasn't enough, so I ate moss from the walls to not be hungry. It tasted terrible, like something dead and bitter. But I lived through each day, using my boring routine to help me stay sane.

As my body got used to the darkness, I noticed some little changes. My leg muscles became stronger and I even started doing push-ups to make my upper body strong. The pain was really bad, but it took my mind off of being so lonely.

Then, one day, I noticed something amazing. My eyes had gotten used to the dark. I couldn't say when it happened or how, but I could suddenly see shapes and lines in the shadows. It was a small thing, but it gave me hope, something I hadn't felt in a while. My body had changed a lot from not eating well and moving all the time, but my eyes could now see in this darkness.

Maybe it was because of the moss or maybe the odd glowing mushrooms.

....

As my eyes got used to the dark, I looked around the space under the ground. It was as empty and sad as I thought it would be. There was no furniture at all in the square room, but there were many paintings covering all of the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor. It was strange that I hadn't noticed the floor paintings before, but I quickly pushed that thought away, thinking it was just another sign that my mind was getting worse.

I looked toward the corner of the room where I had been going to the bathroom. The smell from the waste was really bad and made my stomach feel sick. But what surprised me was that there were bugs there, eating the waste. I wondered how they got into this closed-off space. Did they crawl through a crack or hole I hadn't seen? I hadn't heard the sound of their wings until now, and it made me feel even more alone and stuck.

Feeling how real my bad situation was, I couldn't stop a feeling of hopelessness from covering me. The only company I had in this terrible place were bugs eating my waste and the paintings on the walls.

I had really reached the lowest point. My mind broke under the heavy feeling of being so alone, and I had finally lost my connection to what was real.

In that moment, I knew that if I didn't find a way out soon, I might not get out of this place alive.

•••••••••••••••••••

[ Author Note: Understanding the Alifazmiyya Language

Let's talk about a made-up language in this story called Alifazmiyya. This language is a fictional version of the one used in Baghdad in the world of the story. It's not real but is essential for our tale.

Alifazmiyya gets its name from two parts: "Alif," which is an Arabic word that means "letter," and "-azmiyya," a part that suggests "of determination" or "of firmness." So, you might say that Alifazmiyya means a language made of letters that express things in a strong and clear way. This name implies a language that has a sturdy and decided way of writing, and it can share complicated ideas with exactness and clearness.

Now, let's look at the alphabets of Alifazmiyya. It's important to know that it has 26 letters, just like the English alphabet. Each letter corresponds to one in English, making it a creative way to explore new linguistic structures.

Here's a guide to the Alifazmiyya alphabets, where each Arabic letter is matched with an English letter:

- أ stands for A

- ب is used for B

- ت represents C

- ث is for D

- ج stands for E

- ح represents F

- خ is G

- د represents H

- ذ stands for I

- ر is J

- ز stands for K

- س is L

- ش represents M

- ص is for N

- ض stands for O

- ط is P

- ظ represents Q

- ع is R

- غ stands for S

- ف represents T

- ق is for U

- ك stands for V

- ل is W

- م represents X

- ن is Y

- ه is Z