Sparks in the Ashes

Days blurred.

Alex learned the routine. Two meals a day—stale bread, dirty water. No windows. Guards in black. Rifles always ready.

But more than anything—silence.

The children barely spoke. Fear sealed their mouths.

Alex changed that.

He whispered. Encouraged. Gave them someone to believe in.

He met Irene, the thirteen-year-old who welcomed him. Quick-witted, sarcastic, fearless in her own way.
Leo, fifteen, skinny and smart, used to fix cars back home.
Tala, twelve, almost mute but always listening. She noticed everything.

Together, they began to plan.

“The guards rotate every six hours,” Irene said. “That’s our window.”

Leo nodded. “I can open the maintenance panel. If we cut the power to the east corridor—”

“We get five minutes, tops,” Tala added.

Alex trained the older ones in silence. Basic moves. Quick takedowns. Use of surprise.

The younger kids? They watched with wide, hungry eyes. Some too scared to move. Others—like Marios would have been—ready to fight.

Each night, Alex remembered home. His mom’s cooking. His dad’s silence. Marios’ laugh.

Each night, he remembered why he couldn’t die here