“Misery is a privilege.” Her jail-keeper – her Mentor and teacher – dropped a heel of stale bread through the slit in the door. It was followed quickly by a very small tureen of what would probably be equally-stale water, and a very thin slice of sausage.
Cha didn’t answer this time. She had tried answering last time, and the meat had gone away. She sat, the way she had been instructed, head pressed to her knees, and accepted her instruction.
“Misery tells you several things. It tells you that you are still alive, first and foremost. It tells you what you want. And, like pain, it tells you what is wrong.
“So tell me, Charla, what is it you want?”
Cha didn’t look up. She had not been instructed to look up. “Ma’am?”
“It is a simple question… but it isn’t, is it? The first thing that comes to your mind will do for now.”
A second slice of meat slipped through the door slot. “Well, then, Charla, I think you better figure out how to find it. It’s time to start learning, dear.”
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