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The Prisoner; rated PG-13
Topic Started: Thursday, 19. August 2010, 10:48 (410 Views)
Danska
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The penguin is watching you!
I wasn't sure what genre to classify this as. Since I consider it to be set in a fantasy world, I decided to put it here. Also, this is my BW 17 entry.

The Prisoner

The prisoner rocked and writhed in his damp cell, tormented by a thousand cuts and burns riddling his body. He was alone. Alone with only his thoughts for company. He had been alone for so, so long. The warmth of sunlight had become a distant, half-forgotten memory buried under layers of pain and solitude.

He could not remember what he had done, only that he had to get out. There was something important. Something he had to do. Somewhere he had to go. But what? He could not clear his mind long enough to focus, and the thoughts slipped away as another wave of anguish racked his broken shell.

He fell, face-first, into the muck, his arms scrabbling on the slimy stone to find something, anything to hold. Something to focus on besides the blinding pain, Failing, he scratched incessantly at his own arms, his legs, his face, as if to claw the pain out. The fresh cuts scraped over barely healed wounds, mixing blood with the layers of grime and muck.

The pain lessened as it always did, and he collapsed in a heap, tears leaking from his sunken, bloodshot eyes. He made no sound, his voice broken from the endless screams and cries of his torment.

Quietly sobbing, he tried to remember something, anything from his life before. He was sure it had been a happy life. He remembered faint snatches – an old vase belonging to a relative, a tunic he once wore and loved, the feel of a woman's hair, gently stroking his hand through it – but the memories were so distant and faint, he could not even say with certainty that they were his own. Still sobbing, he curled up into a ball and drifted away into the one release he had – sleep.

* * * * *

He ran, faster and harder than he had ever run before. The sound of dogs and men shouting orders filled his ears, but the rest of his senses were focused on the exit ahead. It was small, maybe too small, but he knew he could make it. He had to. It glowed with a white light promising peace and safety – a final escape from his torment. He would not go back!

He ran faster. His breath came in heavy gasps and his legs shook under him, but he did not stop. He was sure the dogs were coming closer. He could hear their snarls, their hunger, and could almost feel their breath upon his body. He had to run.

Closer now. Almost there. Just a few more steps. He could almost touch it now. If he reached out, his fingers would brush its surface. He only had to touch it. He'd be free then. Free from the pain and the misery. He extended his hand, the tips of his fingers so close. So, so close now...

He tripped and fell, fingers outstretched, barely an inch from the opening. His head hit the floor with a heavy thud, and he thought he felt his arm twist and break. Desperately he tried to reach the opening, but it was too far. Frantically he pushed and clawed, but he could not move.

Blood spilled over his eyes, masking everything in a deathly red. He could hear the ragged pants of dogs as they circled him, smelling the blood, smelling his sweat and fear. He looked up and tried to shield his face with his hand, as if by banishing them from his sight they themselves would also go.

A pair of jaws clamped shut round his arm, tearing the flesh. He screamed in agony as another sharp pain ripped through his leg. He could see the dog now – a huge, black beast – scraps of his own flesh hanging loosely from its jaws. Desperately he clawed at the ground, grasping, dragging his mutilated body towards the door. So close now. So close...

A growling, snarling pair of jaws suddenly filled his view. He froze in fear and panic, hardly noticing as another chunk was torn from his back. The beast's crimson eyes stared hungrily at him. It jaws opened wide, filling his nostrils with the foul reek of death and decay -


* * * * *

The prisoner awoke to find himself strapped to a chair. The room was dark, but he knew from the smell that it was cleaner than his cell. A faint silhouette came into view. It was male, he thought, and quite tall. The outline suggested some sort of robe, meaning he was important.

A bright light suddenly flared into existence, blinding him. He cried out, and the light faded, leaving him in darkness once more.

The silence dragged on for what seemed like hours. The only perceptions he had of the world beyond were the places where the rough wood of the chair scraped against his tender skin and the ropes the bit into his wrists and ankles. He wondered if he could get free, perhaps loosen the ropes, but even the slightest movement irritated his sores and blisters.

Was he to be left here? Perhaps this was his new cell. His mind was so numb the thought scarcely registered, but some small part decided that it might be an improvement. He didn't much like being tied down, but it was better than most of his experiences here.

Something connected hard with the back of his head, jarring his neck and almost tipping the chair.

“Where is it?” A deep, gravelly voice demanded. “Where did you put it?”

The prisoner struggled even to hear the words, his head still throbbing from the blow. He tried to open his mouth, to speak, but it was too dry. His utterances were barely louder than a whisper, and no intelligible words came out.

Another blow to the head. “WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT??”

His head was swimming. He felt as though he was going to pass out. He slumped forwards, his arms rubbing sorely against the chipped, battered wood.

A sudden shock jolted him into alertness. “You will not have the satisfaction of sleep until you tell me what I need to know! Now, where IS IT??”

He tried to shake his head, signifying that he did not know, but he was too weak. A faint sound escaped involuntarily from his lips, but he hardly noticed.

“You have something to say. Very well.” A loud clap reverberated around the room. “Bring food!”

Moments later he felt something press against his lips. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and something slimy and foul-tasting was forced into it. He swallowed it anyway, glad of the nourishment.

After a few minutes, once the prisoner had regained some strength, the tall man began again. “So, tell me. Where did you hide it?”

The prisoner muttered something. It almost sounded like real speech, but was neither strong nor clear enough to be comprehensible.

The tall man leaned closer. “What did you say? Speak up. Just tell me. Tell me where it is.”

The prisoner licked his lips. “I...” he struggled.

“Yes?” The tall man said expectantly.

“I don't...” the prisoner gulped. “Don't know...”

Although he could not see it, the tall man's features contorted with rage. He drew away, turning his back then, without warning, spun and slapped the prisoner in the face. He hit him so hard the chair fell sideways, hitting the ground with a mighty thump. Layers of skin were rubbed clean from his arms and blood welled up in his mouth. The room spun around him as his vision blurred. He could hear the tall man shouting, but could not make out any words. He felt a searing hot pain across his chest. He tried to scream, but could not tell if any sound came out. He thought he could detect the smell of his own flesh burning...

* * * * *

He was back in his cell now, alone. Alone and somehow alive. The dogs had not killed him after all! He had very little clothing left, so the scars and injuries were plainly visible to the naked eye. His chest and stomach were covered in large, blotchy bruises that shared space with open sores, ragged gashes and what even looked like bite marks. Many of these injuries extended down to his stomach and across his shoulders, and a number of the gashes had turned a putrid shade of green and smelt of decay.

His arms told a similar story. Large cuts ran their entire length across bright red areas that had been scalded repeatedly. If he could see his own face, he would see that his nose had been broken in at least two different places. His lips were cracked and caked in dried blood. His eyes had sunk deep into their sockets. He had an obvious squint in his left and a gash across the lid, perhaps the eye as well. It hurt to open it. The face itself had little flesh left, the skull almost visible.

But none of this mattered. He was alive and, somehow, intact. He was sure the dogs had ripped him apart. He had felt them bite again and again into his stained flesh, their teeth tearing chunks from his bones. Perhaps he had imagined the whole thing. Maybe it had all been a dream. He couldn't tell. Conscious thought was a luxury that escaped him. For now, he would settle for being alive.

Faintly, he heard his cell door open. A slim figure walked in, the door slamming shut behind them. The figure approached the ragged man slowly. He watched as it approached, uncertain what this could mean. Were they here to administer some new form of torture? Would it be another interrogation? Perhaps they'd had enough and were simply going to kill him?

The figure bent down in front of him. It was a woman – the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her long, golden hair swept back across her shoulders, framing her delicate face in a gentle glow. Her blue eyes looked sad, and tears slid slowly down her cheeks.

She ran her hand softly across his cheek “My dear Davin, what have they done to you?”


* * * * *

“GET UP!”

The prisoner started, jumping clumsily to his feet. He almost tripped, but barely managed to keep his balance.

“If you think for one moment you have experienced all the pain I can inflict upon you, then you are very wrong! Now TELL ME WHERE IT IS!”

“M-Marilda...” he muttered, as a memory flashed across his mind.

The tall man grabbed him by the throat, lifting him into the air. The man's eyes flashed, and at once pain exploded across his body, shattering every other sense or feeling he had. The tall man growled and hurled the prisoner's fragile body against the wall. The sound echoed around the chamber, and the prisoner felt a sudden pain in his back as something cracked.

“YOU WILL TELL ME THE LOCATION!” The tall man screamed, kicking the prisoner hard in the chest. When he still did not speak, the tall man lifted him bodily from the ground and punched him hard in the jaw. It broke.

“YOU. WILL. TELL. ME.” he screamed, punching and beating the prisoner. After a minute the beatings stopped, and he let the prisoner's barely conscious body collapse to the floor once more.

He struggled to keep his eyes open as he stared up at his tormentor. All he knew was pain, but he thought it would end soon. He could barely make out the words being hurled at him, and he no longer cared. It didn't matter any more. Nothing mattered.

* * * * *

“This way!” the woman laughed, dragging Davin by the hand. “You're free now! We can go anywhere!”

The further away they got from the prison, the better he felt. Even his wounds seemed to be healing. Pure fantasy, of course. That was impossible.

Although he began to feel better physically, he still felt drained and afraid. Although he had escaped, somehow, he still felt as if he was back in his cell. He could not shake the feeling that this was wrong somehow. That this – all of this – was not real. His cell was the only reality he had known for so long, to discover a new one was more than he could take in.

The woman who had rescued him – Marilda – said they were engaged. He could not remember this, but could not find his voice to tell her. So he followed, afraid of what she might do when she realised he did not know her.


* * * * *

Water splashed over him, waking him from his slumber. He was outside, he realised. Though the sun blinded him and the chill wind froze his uncovered body, he was relieved. He had almost forgotten what it meant to see the world – to know more than the dingy, refuse-ridden interior of a single, dank room – and he cherished it.

“You are useless to us now, Davin,” a voice said. It came from a man wrapped in a thick, woollen coat. It obscured his features completely, but he recognised the voice. It belonged to the man who had tortured him endlessly, relentlessly, always asking the same question for which he had no answer. He realised he was going to die, but he didn't care. He had been able to see the world one last time. That was enough.

“You cannot speak. You cannot move. You are a disgusting, scrawny pathetic excuse for a human being.” he paused, and two men came up beside him. “These men are under orders to take you to the gate. From there, you are free. You may go where you please. Do what you please. It doesn't matter any more.”

He could not believe it. He was to be freed? After so long? It had to be a trick. It had to be!

The guards approached, grabbing an arm each. As they dragged him past his former captor, he lent down and whispered in his ear.

“It doesn't matter, because we will still find what we want. We will learn where it is hidden.”

* * * * *

“ Come on Davin! We're almost there!” Marilda called.

He tried to reply, but still his voice would not work. He cursed silently, and followed. He was able to walk now. His legs could fully support his weight, and he could manage to walk for a whole half hour unaided without needing to rest. It was an encouraging thought, and he was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had escaped. Maybe this was real after all.

“You left something behind before they took you,” she said. “I don't know what, but it was very important. Please, tell me you remember where it is.”

Her eyes were so kind, so sincere. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps there was something.

“Look around. Do you recognise where we are?”

Lifting his head, Davin gazed for the first time at his surroundings. He did recognise it! It was a small forest, just outside of his home city Caradign. He used to sneak out of the city every evening to come here and be alone. It was so quiet, so peaceful. Sometimes he would come here to think, or to work out a problem. Other times he would come simply to listen and enjoy the stillness.

Suddenly, he knew where he had to go. He did not know why, but he knew it was right. He clumsily raised an arm and pointed. Marilda smiled and took his hand. They walked together through the tranquil forest, the soft stepping of their feet the only sound to disturb the silence.

They came, at last, to a clearing. The trees parted to reveal a lush, green space filled with flowers of all kinds and colours. The sun shone brightly from the perfect blue sky, bathing it in the most beautiful light. The very air seemed to sparkle as they stepped forward, drinking in the warmth and light and scents. At the centre stood a tiny stone pillar, no more than a foot in height.

“Is that it?” asked Marilda. Davin nodded.

Together they pulled it out, freeing it from the ground's embrace. In the hole there was a small, battered old box. Trembling, Davin reached through the soil with his fingers, gently pulling the box free.

“What is it?” Marilda asked.

Trembling more, he gently prised his fingers under the lid,


* * * * *

What had happened? He remembered being led to the gate. They took him outside. There was even a carriage waiting for him. He had climbed in and – and -

He could not believe it. So close to being free. So close! Yet here he was, back in his cell. How was that possible?

He cried and wailed, banging his fists against the filthy, mud-choked floor. He had escaped! This couldn't be true! It couldn't!

Two voices carried faintly through the door of his cell. Still crying, he tried to listen.

“--- found out ---------- hid ---”

“Yes ------- just outside -------------- clearing ---------”

“------ course. -------------- first met Marilda. --- should have --------------------- do with him ----”

“--- won't trouble ------------ I -------see to ----”

“---------my regards, Karnash.”

It made little sense to him, but he was sure of two things: first, they would shortly be coming to kill him. Second, had to find Marilda. He wasn't sure if she was important or related or perhaps in danger, but he knew he had to find her. And he would, he vowed. He would escape this place and find his way back, however impossible the task seemed.

Quietly, he curled up on the floor, his head filled with ideas of escape and freedom. Even as he heard the door open and the sound of a sword being drawn, he knew; he would find a way.

* * * * *

pulling it open. He gasped. “Do you see?”

She looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I do.”

It was a ring. A delicate, silver ring that he had given to Marilda, his Marilda, so long ago. He took it from the box and placed it carefully on the finger of his beloved.

“My handsome prince. I am so glad to have you back. So glad.”

He encircled her with his strong arms, holding her close. “I will never forget you again. Never.”

“There's a note too. What does it say?”

Carefully, he pulled the note from the box. It was a thin, tiny strip of paper. He could barely unfold it for fear that it may crumble beneath his fingers.

“What does it say?”

Gently, he leaned towards her and whispered just one word into her ear.


* * * * *

He could not fight. The guard was too strong and he too weak. Although he was going to die, he had found something he thought long forgotten. They had beaten it from him, but in his last moments he had found it, and they would not take it from him again. Just one thing.

Hope.
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Phovos
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Medicating Raptor
Wow. Reading that hurt.

Very nice. A bit... choppy in some places, but very descriptive and well written.

Good luck in the contest.
I have a whole website. It's kinda lame though.
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Cow!
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Moojestic Queen Moomay the Resplendent and Hot
That was amazing. I started and I couldn't stop reading. I've just been reading a tale of two cities, so it reminded me a little of that, hm. Lovely piece you have here.
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James
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it's all cool
It's goooooood. :) Same as Cow!, I couldn't stop reading once I started, not even to glance at Top Gear.

Good job and good luck. :D
To protect the world from devastation.
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