Prisoner

The figure's face came into my view, and I discovered that it was a young man. I couldn't make out any details, though because of the darkness. All I could tell was he had long hair that fell over his eyes and he was quite tall.

The soldier stepped forward again, pulling the boy along behind him and walking quickly over to a far corner. He pushed the boy down to his knees before securing the boy's handcuffs to the wall behind him. Then, the soldier turned and left quickly, without a word or a glance in my direction.

As soon as the door closed again, consuming the room in darkness, my heart sunk in despair. I brought my hand up to the wound on my cheek again, cringing as my fingers collided with the blood that was now trickling down the side of my neck.

The boy on the other side of the room seemingly wasn't aware of my presence as I listened to him shift uncomfortably and curse under his breath.

I quietly cleared my throat, and his movement suddenly stopped.

"H-hello?" His rough, but timid voice floated across the room to my ears. His voice was strained, as if he had been screaming for a long period of time and had worn it out.

It was an indescribable happiness that washed over me as he spoke. It had been such a long time since I'd heard another human voice. It was amazing to hear someone speak again. I felt sort of silly sitting there grinning like an idiot because of the fact that he had spoken one word, so I decided to go over and introduce myself.

"Hello," I whispered. I wasn't used to hearing my own voice, so it sounded strange and croaky in my ears.

The boy gasped a little, and then covered it with a cough. "Who are you?" He demanded bluntly, voice echoing slightly around the small room. “Show yourself.”

I awkwardly stood there, chewing on my chapped lip before finally answering.

"Tess. My name is Tess Hanover."

He grumbled incoherently to himself, and then spoke again. "There's uh . . . a flashlight in my back pocket," he said, completely ignoring my latter statement.

I frowned at his rudeness. "What?"

He sighed heavily. "A flashlight. You know, to help us see?" His words were sarcastic.
I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling cold again. "Why are you—”

"I can't fucking reach it," he snapped.

I was taken aback, and gasped a little when he swore. I didn't get why he was being so rude to me. He was my new cell mate and I was happy that I finally had somebody. Couldn't he just feel the same way? Couldn’t he just be grateful that he was alive and had somebody with him?

"I'll . . . Get it for you?" My statement came out more as a question since I was unsure of how I would go about that in the dark. I might end up touching him in the wrong places or something.

"Please," he said lowly, again sounding sarcastic.

I timidly stepped forward. "Okay." I heard him shift slightly, and came to the conclusion that he had sat up on his knees so I could reach his pocket better.

I reached forward, and my fingers suddenly collided with what I hoped was his chest, and as a low mocking chuckle rumbled underneath my hand, I realized with great relief that it was.
I removed my hand from his shirt and trailed my fingers quickly down his arm. I reached the end of his hand, and found his back pocket, hastily pulling the small contraption from his jeans.

I sighed in relief and slowly flicked the flashlight on. A small shaft of light reflected off the ceiling, and I set it on the concrete floor. I then crossed my legs, daring to lift my eyes to the boy in front of me.

The first thing I noticed was his intense green eyes, curly brown hair, and the deep frown that was set upon his chiseled features.

I couldn’t help but feel self conscious a bit. I couldn’t even remember the last time I brushed my hair, let alone washed it. I probably looked like something out of a horror movie to him.
"What's your name?" I asked quietly, my short, greasy blonde hair falling into my eyes.

He sighed, sounding annoyed. "Harry Styles."

I nodded slightly, and then there was an awkward pause. I opened my mouth to speak several times, but closed it soon after. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him, but somehow I couldn't make myself ask them.

"You've got blood on your face," he pointed out rudely. "You should probably get that cleaned up."

I looked at him, my fingertips trailing lightly over the bloody wound on my jaw. I flinched as it stung. "I know," I replied. "I'll . . . clean it later."

It was quiet again for a few minutes, and then Harry spoke up again.

"How come I'm tied up and you're not?" He struggled against his restraints.

I shrugged. "I guess they do that to all new prisoners."

Harry flinched at the word 'prisoner' and fell silent again.

Before I was captured and put in here, I had thought that FEMA camps were just a myth. But I was wrong. They were all too real, and everything we had heard about them was true-and much more. Sometimes they killed people when there were too many prisoners, and sometimes they left them so long that they killed each other and turned to cannibalism. I shuddered at the thought. Being here was already too much of a horror to be thinking about people eating other people.

I stood up with a sigh and walked over to my bed. Even though it was still quite dark, it was a lot easier to see now that there was an actual light source in the room.

I reached under my bed and pulled out my journal, flipping it open to a clean page. It was so much easier to see the paper in front of me with the light from Harry's flashlight than with the small stream under the door.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked suddenly. He didn't sound very interested, but I answered him anyway.

"Writing." I clicked open my pen.

Harry splayed out his long legs lazily. "Writing what?"

Damn, he was persistent; when he wanted to be.

"In my journal," I said, blinking.

Harry's face suddenly lit up, and I saw him smile for the first time. Dimples popped out on either side of his face, and his eyes became a lighter color. If I was honest, he looked a thousand times better when he was smiling.

"You have something to write in?" He asked excitedly.

I nodded slowly.

He looked as though he would explode from happiness, and I was sure that if his hands weren't tied together, he would have clapped them in ecstasy. "Can I—,” he interrupted himself when the realization hit him, and his face fell.

I smiled sympathetically. "I'll give you a few pieces of paper when you're unchained." I turned back to my journal for a bit.

"What time is it?" Harry asked after a while; then hesitated and spoke again, quieter then. "Do you even know?"

I glanced at my watch. "Twelve forty-seven." I yawned, rubbing my eye. "Might as well get some sleep."

Harry nodded, and I switched off the flashlight.

"Goodnight, Harry," I whispered, feeling the all-too familiar cold beginning to seep into my clothes once again.

Harry only grunted in response.

Notes