Happy Monday all. I hope the weekend treated you well whatever you did. Personally, I did very little. After the busy week, it was very nice to do very little. But now I need to shake my brain awake for another busy week. And so we begin the writing prompt. Everyone ready? Good. See you in fifteen minutes.
Here is what I came up with. It could be interesting to see where this one goes. I might end up putting it in my to be broken out later file.
Monday, October 19th: Every move was being watched.
Every move was being watched. He didn’t need to look up to see them. The guards, patrolling the top of the tower, looking down into the yard where he and the other prisoners milled about during their daily ration of sunshine. He glanced up not at the guards but at the sky. Sunshine today was a bit optimistic. The sun was hidden behind a thick ceiling of clouds, obscuring both heat and light. It gave the mid-morning light a pallid cast that felt more like late evening. It made him feel as though he was cheated out of another day. A cold wind blew down from the hills, cold and biting. Autumn wa ending. He hadn’t been here for a winter yet and wondered if the daily airing of the prisoners would continue into the bitter cold of winter. While he appreciated the fresh air, having to walk about in the bare yard, keeping limbs moving for the hour of allotted time in order to keep frostbite at bay was not a pleasant thought. He looked back down, turning away from the sky. Prisoners were not allowed to talk during their time outside. They had to maintain a strict distance between each of them as well. While it prevented brawling it also prevented comradery. Steven suspected the latter was more to the point and the former a justification to implement the rules. Looking around he wasn’t certain what he could or would say to any of those around him if he could. They were a joyless lot. He knew there were those collected with him, but for security purposes, they were sent to different facilities. Everyone here was a stranger to him. Steen wondered what they thought he would do. He mentally shrugged the thought off as he strolled around the yard, exercising his legs, his lungs drinking in the cold but clean air. Those who put him here decided what he’d done to warrant the sentence with little relation to reality. He expected that their believe in what he would do once here was equally unchained to the probability of his future actions. The shuffling of the feet on the bare earth, was a steady whisper, almost like a monk’s mantra after a time. Steven felt himself settle. The angst of the constant watchfulness fading. The rage of the injustice was already fading, blunted by the fact that there was no one who he could take it out on. One could only rage at walls for so long before becoming exhausted. His thoughts stilled into a quiet pool. He felt calmer, more in tune with himself than he had since he left the sanctuary of the monastery. The whispering feet, his own and the others, was a white noise bringing with it clarity of mind. He was drawn from the deep pool of his thoughts by the ringing of the bell. He blinked as though surfacing from sleep. Wordlessly the guards in the yard with the prisoners, turned facing the doors. Knowing the drill, all of the prisoners turned as well and their shuffling steps now had a destination. They filed into a line and reentered the building. Their numbers were checked against the list, in case any of them managed to escape during their hour of sun.
Ten til Midnight 