//------------------------------// // Prisoner 111.471 // Story: Musings of the Mundane // by Thak //------------------------------// Day #4382 My time spent in this despicable prison is approaching its eighth year, and while I praise the Maker for every day I am alive I am no longer holding out hope that I will be rescued. I have resolved myself to being a prisoner here among several hundred others. The prison is nice, I suppose. The entire place is constantly being cleaned, and the Warden is very efficient in her handling of the day to day tasks. The Warden. A sick, twisted individual with no room in her heart. Constantly she walks through the prison, never speaking to us. Oh, she’ll go on and on with her little assistant, but she holds no love for us. I see it in her cold, dark violet eyes. I see her take away the other prisoners sometimes. I have no idea where she takes them, but most do not come back for quite some time. And when they do, they’re always a little more run-down than when they left. Most bear deep scars, harrowing reminders of our Warden’s cruelty. There are some who come back a little…different. They eye their prison cell as one might a place of worship. Those ones are the most disturbing. What sick and twisted punishment did she inflict on them to make them glad of being able to return to this prison? This tightly packed torture chamber. Sometimes we get moved, just to spice things up. It’s always interesting to watch he Warden those days. She’s constantly yelling at her assistant, and she makes him place us in different cells depending on her whim. I’ve even heard her threaten him, though I was too far away to make out what she threatened him with. Almost feel sorry for the little guy. And then I remember with sickening horror how he disposes of the prisoners the Warden no longer finds useful. His cruel, cruel laugh as he burns them alive while he watches, a smile on his face as they are reduced to a steaming pile of ash. He then sweeps them up like their just dirt on the floor, and I can only watch in stunned silence. I’d like to say that it phases me; that this macabre freak show still churns something deep inside me to cry out in protest, or get sick with disgust. But it doesn’t. I can’t feel it. They were just my cellmates. Fellow prisoners waiting to die, forgotten by all of society. Do they have families, I wonder? Anyone who would miss them? I don’t think I do, but to be honest, I wouldn’t want them to see me like this. It’s times like these that make me glad I’m in here. Here, I have my thoughts. They can’t be taken from me; they can’t be influenced by anyone other than myself. Here, in my cell, I make all the rules, and do whatever I want. A terrible thing, imagination. I can envision everything so clearly, and yet I know I will never experience it again. The gentle caress of warmth from the sun, or the icy chill of a winter’s night will never be mine to experience again. But I can dream about them. I can imagine what it must feel like. Day #4417 No longer do I need to imagine the bright sun on my face! No longer must I imagine what the cool night air feels like! I am free! …Mostly. Let me explain. This afternoon was like any other. My fellow prisoners and I had once again continued our daily routine of doing absolutely nothing, when we noticed a certain oddity. There was no assistant, or Warden. Not even the night guy was there, though some claimed he didn’t really exist. We were totally alone. Mind, that isn’t an unusual circumstance. Often times we were left unattended, and for good reason. Most of us had been here a while, and all that bad blood that had been between us mattered little in here. We learned to get along pretty quickly, or else it was the assistant’s happy little char-fest for you. Anyway, the day started out as quiet as any other. We were thoroughly relieved when there was no sound of the Warden or her demented little puppet, and we took to having a swell time. Being prisoners, there wasn’t much we could do. I think someone a few cells down from me tried saying some jokes to get us to laugh, but we weren’t in the mood. We were happy knowing none of us were getting barbecued for the time being, and we sat in loving silence. We became a little concerned when around evening time, we still had not seen hide nor hair of our captors. Rumors spread that someone was coming to rescue us, and that the Warden had been killed. As crazy as it sounds, a part of me wished that such was the case. That our rescuer was waiting just outside these walls, eagerly finding some way to free us. All I have to say is, be careful what you wish for. The world exploded in a giant fireball. Nothing stood of our prison as I watched the circular walls disintegrate. Fellow prisoners burned alive faster than I thought possible. Others were thrown into the twilight, their bodies still on fire. I watched as one landed with a sickening thud below me. Most of my area of the prison had been spared the explosion. Our cells had mostly been vaporized, though some of the structure of the cell block remained. I and several of my cell mates had survived the initial blast. The prison was now open to the evening air. The cool breeze blew across me for the first time in eight years, and I just sat there. The world I had known was burning around me. Most of the acquaintances I had were ashes or dismembered corpses, but I didn’t care. I wished for nothing more than to have that feeling of the wind rushing through me forever. Like I said, be careful what you wish for. With a sickening groan, I stared in horror as the ground gave way beneath me. I desperately tried to grab onto what remained of my cell, but that only sent more of the debris falling after me. I stared with dread at the pile of wood that had been my home for nearly a decade crumbled after me as I fell. Thankfully, I wasn’t able to see where I had fallen. I awoke with a sharp pain in my spine, and as I glanced around, I felt sick. I was on the bottom of the prison, lying on top of the cold, hard ground. I was pinned beneath the remains of my cell, unable to move. And to top it all off, I was completely alone. But the breeze feels nice. I’d weep, but I forgot how long ago. The Warden is back. She rescued as many of us as she could, hugging us close to her. She seems so much nicer now. Everywhere she walks, there’s a tear in her eyes. She looks on the destruction, and I can see her heart break. Maybe she cared this whole time. Maybe she loved us. Even her assistant was no longer the cruel monster he had been. Each step into the prison seemed to break him down almost as much as her. I saw him crying as well, and my heart split in two. I watched them come up, and stare down at me. I hoped my broken visage hurt them as much as it did me. The assistant leaned down close to me, and I saw the pity in his eyes. I was broken. I was in pain, and there was no way I would be able to take care of myself anymore. Not with a broken spine. I watched him take a deep breath. I closed my eyes, waiting anxiously for the fires to take me. They never came. Instead, I felt him brush off the debris holding me down, and gingerly he picked me up and help me close. “It’s gonna be alright little guy,” he said with a catch in his voice.And you know what? I believed him. No longer was he the cruel master I had feared. He was a kind, considerate individual who was just doing his job before. I can’t really blame him for following the Warden’s orders. Otherwise he would’ve been in here with the rest of us. The Warden. She didn't look at me with barely a glance this time. No longer did she take one cursory pass of her eyes and move on. She stared right at me, and I at her. This close, no way could she hide what she was feeling. Pain. Deep and utter heart-wrenching pain. She looked like a mother who had watched all her children get killed. And I couldn’t stay mad at her. Celestia knows I should have, but I couldn’t. They turned around and looked at what was left of the prison. And I guess she really had changed from who she was before. She didn’t talk to her assistant in hushed tones. She actually allowed me to be in the conversation. I smiled. “C’mon, Spike. Let’s see if we can get your little friend fixed up,” she said. “Twilight?” he asked hesitantly. “Do you wanna come back and look for more books tomorrow?” “I don’t know,” said the Warden. “I just don’t know.”