Morning one and all.While monday felt like the week was going to drag on, today it feels as though the week has evaporated.Ah, the difference a few days makes. But still, we must press on. Timers ready? Then let’s see what this prompt dredges up.
I kind of like this one actually.It’s very rough and I can already feel my fingers itching to replace repeated words and expand the story, taking sections more slowly and broadening them. That’s usually a good sign that this will end up being a prompt I end up expanding for use somewhere else later.It will be fun to see what happens to this down the road.
Thursday, January 7th: “Open the door.”
“Open the door”. The rage was etched into every syllable and Gavin backed away from the door. It shook as the wooden door was pounded from the other side.
‘It is double thick,’ he reminded himself as the door rocked in its frame, with a layer of solid in between. He can’t get out.’
The door was a holdover from the Fae wars, when everyone knew that only cold iron could stop those born on the other side of the rift in the lands of darkness and magic. Shen told their prisoner was to be locked in here, Gavin felt sorry for him, at first. He didn’t know what the prisoner did to deserve such a fate. These particular dungeons hadn’t been used in generations, not since the final Peace between the Peoples.
Since then it gathered accumulated things no one else wanted.
Gavin was on the team sent to clear the place out in anticipation for their new prisoner. The outer sections of the prison were filled with junk simply disposed of as it had become locally as the dumping rounds. The further back they went it seemed as though people were deliberately trying to fill up the space, to close it off from normal view by any means possible.
The further back they went, the less broken things became. Doorways were blocked with heavy furniture that was barely scratched. Some looked as though it had never seen a day’s use prior to its relocation.
As Gavin helped haul intact armoires and cupboards of all sorts from the dungeon he recalled that this part of the kingdom had been particularly hard hit. There was some sort of incident towards the end of the war that he couldn’t quite remember. He knew it was bad but couldn’t bring the details to mind.
The locals came to watch them. The young ones showed a keen interest and as sort of mocking humor as the soldier dug out the trash pit. The older ones seemed less amused. Gavin wondered if it was the memory they were trying to bury with the dungeons.
His sympathy for the soon to be prisoner grew when he saw the small dark cells. What little light glittered off of moisture and the few bits of iron that hadn’t rusted. He wasn’t on duty when the prisoner was transferred in. He arrived in the dark of night and Gavin only learned he arrived the next morning. By then three soldiers had died and several more were sporting severe wounds. No one wanted to talk about the prisoner and he was paid as little attention as possible by the night guard. It was the day guard, like Gavin, who brought in food and water. They were warned not to talk to him. Not to answer back when he spoke. For most, the condition of the night guard was incentive enough to follow this edict, but Gavin admitted to a certain curiosity.
“Let me out,” the prisoner bellowed.
“I don’t have the keys so it is useless to yell,” Gavin found himself replying. The banging stopped. The door seemed to sigh with relief.
“What, they don’t trust you with the key?” the voice oozed out. And Gavin found himself blinking at the slot where the food tray was slipped through the door. Somehow he was a step closer than he was before. Yet he didn’t remember moving. Gavin forced himself to take that step back, then he took another one for good measure.
“Why wouldn’t they give you the key?” the prisoner asked. The voice seemed reasonable and Gavin wondered why he wasn’t given the key. Surely he should be trusted with the key, he was a guard, He was trusted. Gavin blinked. This time he was three steps closer to the cell door. He shook his head. He was a low level guard and this was a matter for the upper echelons. He shouldn’t have the key and he knew it. He knew he wasn’t senior enough to be trusted with the key. Gavin turned away from the cell door and sprinted off back to the guard station. Behind him, he heard laughter.
“You’ll be back,” the prisoner said. There was a sly humor in the voice. “I’ll just wait here for you.”
Ten til Midnight 