50.

I’ve decided that, with the spare paper they’ve given me to write letters, I’ll keep journal entries. Maybe one day someone will know what I went through.

Day 1

My name is Andrina Stevens. I was born in upstate New York in 2015. Several years ago the sky was blanketed in a poisonous ash, and most of our civilization died of disease or starvation.

My family survived.

I’m locked in a prison because I’ve been accused of murdering the King of the New World. He was killed in his sleep, lying next to me.

The room they’re keeping me in has a soggy smell. Segments of the walls are covered in green moss. A steady drip, drop reverberates in the dark corners.

Day 2

This morning a footman came into my prison room, urinating on a wall, laughing the whole time.

It also happened at lunch.

And at dinner.

Day 3

Today the smell was so nauseating that I stuck my head to the slit in the wall, just to breathe.

Nobody came to see me. Not even to bring food.

I did have one visitor, though. I named him Squeaks. He’s a mouse that lives in a tiny hole at the base of the wall. I said, “Squeaks, if they bring me food, you can have it. Because I’m not eating.”

He sat up on his hind legs, listening to every word. When I finished talking, I told him good night, and he ran back to his home.

Day 5

No sign of Squeaks. He must’ve realized they haven’t brought me food since yesterday. It was another goopy-brown substance that I wasn’t about to eat, but he had gladly consumed it.

And now, everywhere I look, I see bugs. They crawl across the floor, onto my skin. I itch all over. Scratch. Scratch. My legs and arms bleed.

Maybe they like blood.

Maybe they’re starving, too.

Day 8

My stomach growls and I hear things at night.

A man cries. He’s been this way for at least two days now. Doesn’t he know it won’t do him any good?

Then there are the screams. Violent. Horrific. I can’t listen anymore. Do they torture people in here? And if so, who’s next?

Day 11

One of the jailers slid a wooden plate with who-knows-what toward me; the only meal I’ll receive in the next few days.

“For our wonderful Queen,” he said, and then spat on the food.

Outside, he laughed with the other men. Their cackles seeped through the walls.

Day 13

Squeaks came to visit today. I don’t remember much about our meeting, though. What I do remember is falling asleep and dreaming about him, and how he was able to feed his family from a giant cheese wheel.

Day 14

I’m so hungry it hurts. Just one slice of bread would be enough to make the pain go away.

But that might be asking too much.

Day 21

Why hasn’t anyone come by to see me? Three weeks. I’ve been here three weeks today.

I’d rather have guests than food. And I’d rather sleep than lose my mind.

Day 26

I’m keeping a tally of the days spent in here. I’ve grown used to the steady drip in the corner of the room. It’s not so bad now that I can tune it out.

Day 28

Squeaks doesn’t visit as much. I guess it’s because food isn’t delivered every day.

Day 33

Watered-down soup and a potato is all I get today. I want to make it last, but if I don’t hurry and eat, the bugs will devour it.

Day 39

I think they want me to starve. But not to the point of death. Just so I remember why I’m here.

Day 42

Daphne tried to visit today, but they wouldn’t let her stay longer than five minutes. She mostly hugged me. My throat is so dry it hurts to talk, so I couldn’t say much. But if I was able to speak, I would’ve told her that I miss her, too.

Day 55

I want to make it stop. I want this to be over. I can’t do it. I just can’t live. Nobody should. Not like this.

Day 58

I’m running out of ink. The pen didn’t have much to begin with, but now that I’m using it for diary purposes and to score tally marks, it’s about to fade out.

Day 62

I’ve been sucked into a black hole of emptiness.