<center><sub>This is the first chapter of the Steemit-exclusive, original novel [A Day in the Clouds](https://steemit.com/fiction/@jedau/a-day-in-the-clouds-original-novel-for-steemit-series-announcement). Comments are always welcome. Enjoy!</sub></center>

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<a href="https://steemit.com/fiction/@jedau/a-day-in-the-clouds-chapter-2-the-hours-between-0600-and-0700"> Chapter 2 >></a>
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<a href="https://steemit.com/fiction/@jedau/a-day-in-the-clouds-original-novel-for-steemit-series-announcement"><< Introduction</a>

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<center><img src="http://www.steemimg.com/images/2017/01/01/blimp3c49b9.png" alt="blimp3c49b9.png" border="0"></center>

Three years. I've spent all of three years held captive in this prison compound. I *could* do worse. Soft bed, clean sheets, three square meals a day — nothing much to complain about, if you ask me. It's just that … I didn't have the best luck in the draw, *s'all*. I *could* escape anytime I wanted to, I'm just waiting for the most opportune moment.

During those years, I've grown fond of some of the other captives. They have made my interment somewhat bearable. Time and again, I've tried to rally them and organize an escape, but I fear that my arguments have fallen on deaf ears. It was either they were afraid what they would be subjected to if we were ever caught or that they still do not understand the way I speak.

Our — *my* — captors have tried to recondition me by teaching me their ways and their customs. It was a strange way to extract information from me, but try as they may I will never give in. However, their tactics aren't without benefits: in their quest to integrate me into their society, I have come to understand their language. With that knowledge, I've been granted the capability to understand their plans. Often times, I would try to reason with them and negotiate my release, but they don't seem to comprehend what I'm trying to convey.

I can't help but grin every time they don't understand when I tell them about my escape plans. Admittedly, it was infuriating at first whenever I couldn't get my message across, but I've learned to accept it over time. They smile with me but they have nary a clue of my impending getaway.

I have to be *patient*. That's what the elders of my village have taught us. I have to calculate every possibility until there is almost no chance of failure. All I could do now is to go along with everything and bide my time. If they wanted to kill me, they could have done so a long time ago.

Time and again, I would have these flashes of days past — of glory and of boundless adventure. Even now, as I straddle between dreams and reality, I could feel the warm breeze against my skin, as I fly through the billowy clouds. I could hear the gentle stream gurgle as it flows above the jagged rocks. Sometimes, the memories are so vivid that I couldn't tell them apart from reality.

*Days past*, I hate it when I speak as if those days are behind me. I remember those adventures fondly, and even though I get to relive them every night in my dreams, I fear the constant reconditioning slowly erase my memories. I couldn't even remember what my family looked like — I'm not even sure if I even had a family.

Even though they have stripped me of my armor, my weaponry and — gradually — my memory, I still continue to carry on speaking my people's language, still trying to carry on our tradition. As far as I can recall, the experiments that I have endured under captivity has diminished my powers greatly. I've lost my power of flight but, thankfully, I could still conjure weapons from the wind — *armas de viento* — or I could have just lost the memory of how to perform them effectively. My *armas* aren't as powerful as they used to be — back then they could destroy ships and devastate whole armies, but now I couldn't even injure a fly.

It feels strange being this powerless. I feel like a toddler incapable of even opening a door for itself, in some ways. In this land of giants that I find myself in, that feeling isn't far off. Perhaps that's why my *armas* aren't that effective against them. One day I'll find a way to penetrate their armor, I just have to be smart about it. *Sabiduria*.

I guess that's one of the reasons, if not *the* reason the *Sachaphoyans* — *my* people — weren't so successful in our campaign during the Great War. *Think of where you will land before you leap off the cliff*, the elders always said. Too bad the elders weren't there when the whole village decided to leap towards the battle. The lure of combat was too tempting to pass up. I could still remember the fervor we all felt at the time — the feeling was almost palpable.

It *was* fervor that we felt, right? Wait … fervor, jumping off the cliff, *armas* that could topple armies, prison guarded by giants — yes, that sounds right.

*Sabiduria*. What does it even mean? Hope? Courage? Wait, no — that doesn't sound right. Wisdom? *Sabi*— Wis … dom. *Sabiduria*. Wisdom. Yes, I think it's wisdom, but I can't know for sure. Get a hold of yourself, Ledd. Get a hold of … yourself.

*Ledd*. That's your name. That's the name your parents gave you. *Parents*. You had parents, you had family. They looked … they looked … You remember how they looked. They look exactly like you. Focus.

*Tch*. Times like these, I could really use a *chi*—*chicha*— Come on, you know this. It's your favorite food. You know *this*.

Frustrating! Again, from the top.

Three years. I've spent all of three years held captive in this prison compound. I *could* do worse. Soft bed, clean sheets, three square meals a day—

It *has* been three years, right? Stuck in this prison? But … Why do I feel like I've always been here? Like this is where I was born. I … Wait, no. That can't be right!

Breathe, Z. I mean, *Ledd*. Your name is "Ledd." *My* name is “Ledd.” Breathe … Ledd.

I can smell the clouds. White, billowy clouds floating in the sky. I can feel the sun on my skin — it's cold … Wait a minute. Is the sun supposed to be cold?

The clouds surround me like it's giving me a tight embrace. Come, clouds. Come be with me as we rejoice our freedom. Not too tight, though. Wait, not too tight! No! The more I struggle, the more I'm strangled. Let go of me, foul creature! By the winds I conjure, I—

Wait, what? Why did it suddenly become dark? Where have the clouds gone? Where has my village disappeared to? What kind of sorcery is this? Have I gone blind? Have I—

No, wait. It's just a dream … It's just … It's just a dream. It felt like it happened, is happening, and will happen, all at the same time. It felt so real.

*Blanket?* The clouds were only a blanket. It smells like clouds. Or, the clouds smell like this blanket. How could that be? Do I even really know what clouds smell like? Was that a memory or was that a dream?

Things like these need not be questioned. This is *their* doing — this is how they intend to do me in. Those giants can step on me anytime they want to, but they'd rather have me suffer. Their reconditioning is taking its toll on me, and I don't know how long I could last before I break. I have to — no, I *need* to — escape as soon as I get the next chance.

But first, I need to settle down. I need to calm myself. *One step at a time*. Sleep deprivation is dulling my senses, so that should be my priority right now. I need my wits about me if I ever hope to escape unscathed.

I know who I am.

I-I know my … I know my past, and I know that it's real.

I know what I have to do.

<center>![mandala40400.png](http://www.steemimg.com/images/2017/01/08/mandala40400.png)</center>

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<div class="pull-right">
<a href="https://steemit.com/fiction/@jedau/a-day-in-the-clouds-chapter-2-the-hours-between-0600-and-0700"> Chapter 2 >></a>
</div>
<a href="https://steemit.com/fiction/@jedau/a-day-in-the-clouds-original-novel-for-steemit-series-announcement"><< Introduction</a>

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<center><h3>Thanks for reading! Follow me @jedau for stories, solutions and other stuff that begin with 'S'!</h3></center>

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