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Prisoner of War
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Prisoner of War |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
I wake before dawn. That's the way it was before. I suppose there should be no time here in this darkened cell. I can't see any light aside from the old electrical bulb clinging onto the distant ceiling. But I know the feeling of waking before dawn. There is some sense of duty in my mouth and around my eyes. I am slowly awakening, the desire for coffee and other previous luxuries setting in. But the only thing that rouses me is the cold stone floor on which I lay. My hands are soaked in dew from the night of dreamless timeless sleep. My head is stuffed with monotony and boredom. I don't remember when I came to this place anymore. I laid myself to sleep, sick from exams and vomit the morning before. I closed my eyes, allowing the trance to take hold and the rest to overtake my diseased body. The dreams were sweet and the warmpth of the bed was secure. But slowly all went cold. I was with the ones I loved, the world was better again, It was gone. But the sound of cold knocking and the frozen icy palms on my face awakened me to my new reality. I'm standing now, knowing I ought to do something, aware that there is nothing. I walk about the room, pacing like a trapped beast from some ancient vision. Ideas and worlds come into my mind but never coalesce. I can see land but no ground. There are green-leaved trees without branches standing around me. The pressure within builds. A dead blue seeps through the barred windows, as it always does. The air smells of decaying garments and forgotten assignments. I look up and see the faint bulb sticking out the damp round wooden ceiling. This is a well and I am plunged to the bottom, no rope and no bucket to lower. I will never quench anyone's thirst. Sometimes They send interrogators in here. I am reminded by Them of painful periods in my life. They collect whatever information they can. One instant in time I was asked about the year I spent alone without work or life. Remember when you were stuck out there in the north? What did you do? You were very depressed then. Then. Yes, then. I was depressed then. But now everything is okay. The frozen weeping stone surrounds me, circling me on every side. Its coarse organic surface serves as a warning to me. I dare not push on the walls in an attempt to escape. If I dislodge any of the stones the whole tubular structure could collapse, crushing me under its relentless weight. But if I stay here I will die. I am told I will be able to leave some day. The interrogators say that from time to time, but I don't know if it's a truth syrum of false hope to get me to give away more information in my joy. I've noticed that. Happiness tends to open the soul. That's when things fly out unnoticed. Each day there are distant thunderings. The deceased blue that bleeds through my four windows is momentarily broken by the light from the unviewable action outside. I've thought about climbing up to one of the windows to see what might stretch beyond this cell, but the rocks always warn me. They would slip and tumble down. The slime covering their surfaces would make quick work of the grip of my feet. The sounds of the distant world in strain and battle surround me. Light and darkness exchange blows. I can only pray that one day I will make up part of the spoils of a victory if I have not already. Somewhere behind me a door opens. I turn around to see a small figure standing before me. There is no door behind him. There never is. I am tempted to roll my eyes, waiting for the interrogation to begin and end in the way it always does. He will put new twists on old questions. He will ask new questions of old unsolved mysteries. I wonder why they never ask the questions I know would destroy me. There are so many things beneath my surface. Surely They must know. The small man's dark face is scarred. His hairy eyebrows and mournful mouth do little to comfort or threaten me. His eyes are searching, not as stupid as those of most of the interrogators. He has no smiling thorny air or silly looking twisted nose. But still I wonder who will watch this imminant exchange. Who will benifit? He stares at me, searching, learning more than any interrogator could. His face engages my soul in a conversation deeper than any I have ever had. Is that a brief flicker of pain at my guilt for some past horror? He knows that telling me he is not who I expect will accomplish nothing. I have taught myself to see lying and deceit in every word spoken in this place. His hands stay folded in front of him. They too are scarred from an ambience of pain and conflict. His body, clothed in deep black, is still, supporting him as he watches every move of every atom of my being. His white hair falls about his head as an undisciplined fire. His mouth slowly curves into a smile. The deep eyes continue to hold me in their gaze. I look into them and see the worlds of every time and place in an instant. He has seen the first murders, the attrocities of past and future humankind. He has seen me in all my joys and sorrows. I search back to the past, when things were normal. But I find It again. The man and I explore it together. The rising smoke and the pleasures gained seep into us both. I experience what he has experienced. His stern eyes warn me. There is no justification to be found in standing on the same path as another when you know it to be wrong. I can feel my hand raising from my side, seeking out the stone wall. The eyes are encouraging. Push. You have nothing to lose. You cannot stay here forever. I look on the wall behind him. He sees it too. Fear is all that stands there. It is a transparent organic coarse fear of my creation that oozes with an unfounded slime. Push. I look into my mind's eye and see the rocks tumbling down on me, crushing my body. I feel the bones snapping. Skin is pinched between stones, muscle is ground to a pulp, each nerve ending cries out in hope that the end will come soon. I take my hand away from the wall, recoiling from a monster. The man makes one last glance at me and fades from view. I lower my head in shame, allowing my tears of failure to rain down as the storm outside. Slowly time moves on. The war within me rages onward, armies of fear and determination face to face as I was with the strange figure. Sleep sets itself upon me again, arbitrarily choosing its time of attack. My eyes close slowly as my mind probes the options. The scarred face still makes itself known in my consciousness from time to time. It remains an ancient nameless icon borne by stories throughout the ages. As I drift off to sleep I see a small shadow pass above me, standing over me watching. It waits for an end to all my dreams of cold walls of stone, and hopeless chasms covered in brittle wood. He is as timeless as patience. "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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| © Copyright 2003 fractal007 - All Rights Reserved | |||
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ShadowRider Senior Member
since 2001-07-14
Posts 1038USA |
Nicely written, Kevin. I think the reason you haven't received replies is the heaviness of subject. It's difficult for most people to read something like this and not be assailed by emotion. It appears a bit choppy, but maybe that is the stacatto of thought/feeling the prisoner is feeling. The present tense seems mixed a bit with Future-perfect tense, and if you look this over you will see how the mixture of the two adds a bit of confusion, subliminally to the mind but is not a major stumbling point. The prose is eloquent, the voice of war: deep and rich with angst. Hope this helped a bit, and overall a splendid write, Kevin! Jeff |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
Shadow: Thankyou for the analysis. I was hoping someone would pick up on my choice of tense and style. This is my first serious attempt at writing with a present tense style. I figured I ought to start trying it out after seeing so much of it in my Canadian Literature class. Glad the emotions came through well. I will try to keep your suggestions in mind on my next piece. "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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SPIRIT Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745California Desert |
I looked at the title and said to myself it would be okay to read and I wouldn't cry. I lied, this rips the heart out and I am crying. I am an enigma, even unto myself. |
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