Prisoner
3 unexpected
December 18, 2017
Day 707. It's been three days since Harry's arrival and since that day I've been thinking too much about everything. It seems before Harry came I was thinking too much, but now I'm thinking even more. He gets my mind whirling.
Damn him. Damn him to hell for being so . . . angry and secretive. He sits and thinks for hours on end, and when I try to ask him questions he shuts off and yells at me. Trying to figure him out is distracting me from the one thing I need to do: escape from this prison camp.
I’m worried that he will just hinder me in my escape; that he’ll just get in the way and I won’t be able to do what I need to do to get out of this place.
I shouldn't think like that though. Thinking negatively isn't getting me out of this cell.
All of this just for more power. The lives of millions at stake because of greed. It sickened me, to think about what they do to some people. I was lucky, in a sense; I wasn’t dead, and I wasn’t being tortured. Sure, I didn’t have it easy, but at least I still had a hope of something better.
The night was dark and still. No one made a sound. It was as if everyone had died besides me and I was just lying there, waiting for death to sweep over me like a blanket.
I tossed and turned nearly all night, trying to find a comfortable position. But it wasn't possible; I just couldn't sleep.
So I wrote. Every time I couldn't sleep in this damned place, I wrote my heart out.
Closing my journal, I ran my hands over my face, sighing as I did so. It seemed like every night was like this. I felt as though maybe I was restless for a reason; like something was about to happen. I tried to keep my anxiousness at bay though. Being impatient wouldn't get me anywhere.
Across the room, Harry stirred. His mouth fell open a bit and small, startled snores escaped his lips. I watched as his eyes fluttered open, and he cringed at the light from the flashlight-even though it wasn't at all bright.
"Why are you awake?" He demanded. The fatigue in his voice made me wonder the same thing. After all, why was I awake at that time of night when I was so tired I was ready to drop?
But to answer his question, I could only shrug dismissively. "Couldn't sleep."
He yawned and shifted to a more comfortable position.
My fingers found their way to the cut on my jaw. A couple days before, I had used some of my water rations to clean the wound out. The excess blood had cleaned up nicely, but the cut itself was beginning to worry me. If I wasn't careful it would get infected, but it was hard to be very clean in this place.
"What time you got?" Harry asked gruffily from across the room.
I leaned my head back on the cold concrete wall, glancing at the watch on my wrist. "Four-twenty."
Harry groaned loudly, locking his jaw. He mumbled a few incoherent words to himself, and then looked back at me. "I'm sick of this place," he said angrily, eyes flaming.
I nodded in response. If anyone hated this place, it was me. I had been here too long; I should be dead already. But the weird thing was, I was still alive and kicking. After two years of living through extreme temperatures, lack of food, and solitude I should be gone. Maybe I was alive for a reason.
"Me too," I mumbled thoughtfully to Harry.
_
I awoke to the sound of chains rattling. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep until I opened my eyes again. It felt good to finally get some much needed rest.
"Harry?" I whispered, rubbing my eyes tiredly.
Before an answer could come from the other side of the room, the heavy cell door swung open to reveal the silhouette of a soldier. He walked right in, boots clanking, and crouched down beside Harry. In the light, I could make out his mess of light brown curly hair and the all-too familiar U.S. ARMY patch on his camouflage uniform. He wasn't half as enormous as the soldier who had brought Harry here, but he was still quite tall.
But the thing that stood out on him was that he didn't have a gun. He was completely unarmed.
I prepared myself for him to take Harry away to be executed or tortured, but he never did.
Harry and I both watched the soldier wide-eyed as he retrieved a key from the pocket of his camouflage uniform and unlocked Harry's handcuffs. Harry gasped quietly as the sound of the metal hitting the floor echoed throughout the small room. He looked up at the soldier quizzically as he rubbed his raw wrists, silently asking him why he had released his hands.
And then, the soldier did something even more unexpected; he smiled. It was a small smile, but it immediately made me release a breath of air I had no idea I was holding.
"People might call you dangerous, but you're still human. None of you belong in here, and I'll do what I can to help you," the soldier whispered, still crouched down to Harry's sitting height.
He turned to look at me, his brown eyes shining slightly. Then with those words, he left the cell and locked the door behind him.
Day 707. It's been three days since Harry's arrival and since that day I've been thinking too much about everything. It seems before Harry came I was thinking too much, but now I'm thinking even more. He gets my mind whirling.
Damn him. Damn him to hell for being so . . . angry and secretive. He sits and thinks for hours on end, and when I try to ask him questions he shuts off and yells at me. Trying to figure him out is distracting me from the one thing I need to do: escape from this prison camp.
I’m worried that he will just hinder me in my escape; that he’ll just get in the way and I won’t be able to do what I need to do to get out of this place.
I shouldn't think like that though. Thinking negatively isn't getting me out of this cell.
All of this just for more power. The lives of millions at stake because of greed. It sickened me, to think about what they do to some people. I was lucky, in a sense; I wasn’t dead, and I wasn’t being tortured. Sure, I didn’t have it easy, but at least I still had a hope of something better.
The night was dark and still. No one made a sound. It was as if everyone had died besides me and I was just lying there, waiting for death to sweep over me like a blanket.
I tossed and turned nearly all night, trying to find a comfortable position. But it wasn't possible; I just couldn't sleep.
So I wrote. Every time I couldn't sleep in this damned place, I wrote my heart out.
Closing my journal, I ran my hands over my face, sighing as I did so. It seemed like every night was like this. I felt as though maybe I was restless for a reason; like something was about to happen. I tried to keep my anxiousness at bay though. Being impatient wouldn't get me anywhere.
Across the room, Harry stirred. His mouth fell open a bit and small, startled snores escaped his lips. I watched as his eyes fluttered open, and he cringed at the light from the flashlight-even though it wasn't at all bright.
"Why are you awake?" He demanded. The fatigue in his voice made me wonder the same thing. After all, why was I awake at that time of night when I was so tired I was ready to drop?
But to answer his question, I could only shrug dismissively. "Couldn't sleep."
He yawned and shifted to a more comfortable position.
My fingers found their way to the cut on my jaw. A couple days before, I had used some of my water rations to clean the wound out. The excess blood had cleaned up nicely, but the cut itself was beginning to worry me. If I wasn't careful it would get infected, but it was hard to be very clean in this place.
"What time you got?" Harry asked gruffily from across the room.
I leaned my head back on the cold concrete wall, glancing at the watch on my wrist. "Four-twenty."
Harry groaned loudly, locking his jaw. He mumbled a few incoherent words to himself, and then looked back at me. "I'm sick of this place," he said angrily, eyes flaming.
I nodded in response. If anyone hated this place, it was me. I had been here too long; I should be dead already. But the weird thing was, I was still alive and kicking. After two years of living through extreme temperatures, lack of food, and solitude I should be gone. Maybe I was alive for a reason.
"Me too," I mumbled thoughtfully to Harry.
_
I awoke to the sound of chains rattling. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep until I opened my eyes again. It felt good to finally get some much needed rest.
"Harry?" I whispered, rubbing my eyes tiredly.
Before an answer could come from the other side of the room, the heavy cell door swung open to reveal the silhouette of a soldier. He walked right in, boots clanking, and crouched down beside Harry. In the light, I could make out his mess of light brown curly hair and the all-too familiar U.S. ARMY patch on his camouflage uniform. He wasn't half as enormous as the soldier who had brought Harry here, but he was still quite tall.
But the thing that stood out on him was that he didn't have a gun. He was completely unarmed.
I prepared myself for him to take Harry away to be executed or tortured, but he never did.
Harry and I both watched the soldier wide-eyed as he retrieved a key from the pocket of his camouflage uniform and unlocked Harry's handcuffs. Harry gasped quietly as the sound of the metal hitting the floor echoed throughout the small room. He looked up at the soldier quizzically as he rubbed his raw wrists, silently asking him why he had released his hands.
And then, the soldier did something even more unexpected; he smiled. It was a small smile, but it immediately made me release a breath of air I had no idea I was holding.
"People might call you dangerous, but you're still human. None of you belong in here, and I'll do what I can to help you," the soldier whispered, still crouched down to Harry's sitting height.
He turned to look at me, his brown eyes shining slightly. Then with those words, he left the cell and locked the door behind him.
@FarTooYoungToDie
Yay!!! (: xx
1/17/15