The Prompt: If I could be anywhere other than here…
“If I could be anywhere other than here…” Pete murmured to
himself. He didn’t need to finish the thought. He’d done so a hundred times
before since he had been captured and imprisoned, imagining all of the places
that weren’t nearly so bad as his tiny jail cell. In fact, the more difficult
task would be to think of all the places he wouldn’t rather be. Almost
instantly an image of a grave slipped into his mind.
He shook his head roughly. That wouldn’t help him keep a
clear mind which he so desperately needed. Thoughts like that were better left
in the past.
Pete stood up slowly and walked as far as he could away from
the wall he was chained to. If he tried he could just barely see into the next
cell. The occupant there was new; its previous inhabitant had been executed
after giving up everything he knew. Pete hadn’t tried to speak to the newcomer.
Friendships never outlasted the executions. Besides, anyone in here could be a
spy trying to gain his trust to receive information.
But Pete was desperate for some kind of distraction. The man
in the cell had his head in his hands and was facing the wall. His hair wasn’t
long enough to suggest that he’d been captured more than a few weeks ago and
his dark skin and hair suggested he came from down south. Pete tapped his fist
on the metal bars to gain the man’s attention. He jumped in shock at the noise
and turned to Pete in fear. Pete was surprised to notice how young he looked.
He wasn’t a man at all, but a boy. If he was older than fifteen he would have
been surprised. “Hello.” His voice was raspy after weeks of speaking aloud to
no one but himself. The boy stared at him wide eyed without a word. “It’s okay
to talk. They don’t care what we say in here.”
The boy continued to stare and Pete had almost given up hope
of a response when he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “How
long have you been in here?”
Pete glanced at the wall, at the dozens of lines that marked
his futile attempt to keep track of the days before he finally gave up. “A few
months, maybe. Maybe more.”
If it was possible, the boy looked even more terrified.
“Months? I thought this was where they-” The slamming of a door echoed through
the otherwise quiet prison. The boy didn’t pick up his train of thought again,
but Pete knew what he meant. This was where they brought the prisoners to die.
Every person in a cell was simply waiting for his own turn.
Pete figured it would be best to draw the boy away from this
line of thought. Dwelling on death would only send a person into madness. Their
sanity was they had left and Pete wasn’t going to lose that too. “What’s your
name?”
“Matthias,” he whispered. “Matty.”
Matty. It was such a young name. Pete didn’t want to think
of how young and innocent Matty seemed. It would only hurt more when it came
time for his death. Someone so young didn’t belong in a place like this. He
should have been off with his parents somewhere, getting an education like they
would have in happier times that Pete could hardly remember anymore. A boy as
young as Matty wouldn’t know anything more than the war, though. This was what
his life had become.
Another door slammed, this time closer to them. Pete pushed
away from the bars separating their cells and huddled against the wall as far
from the door as possible. A burly guard walked down the aisle, lit by only his
own torch. He ran his stick across the bars and those who hadn’t escaped to the
back of their cells did so immediately.
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