wrote this as an assignment in class actually...we were asked to choose photographs of random things n write short stories about it....mine was of a bunch of rusted/ing chains....
Other prisoners had perished along the way. Not a word, indeed not even a whisper passed from their lips as they collapsed into the fine, enveloping sand. We did not mourn them. We were waiting for the sweet release from our yellow, boiling prison with its heartless wardens. Guardians that would gladly watch us die.
Lurid, green cacti rose up from the sand, reaching up for the clear blue skies, pleading for relief. Ahead in the distance a scream of agony. One scream of mortal fear. Ending a life. No one flinched. It was commonplace. Screams of pain, anguish, loss. We had been through it all. I blindly followed the direction of the tugging chains at my wrist. I stumbled over something. A rock? No, it was a human hand. Dry, dry as the dust it rested on. My eyes traveled up the hand, to the shoulder, the calloused slender neck and then the heart shaped face. A serene face that smiled at me through lifeless eyes. Blue green eyes. Mesmerizing eyes. I knelt down, my knees touching the hot sand. I didn't notice the heat seeping through. I reached out, my hand quivering, and gently closed her tragically beautiful eyes. Her lids drew down over her eyes one last time, shutting out the world. Unjust, cruel world. I murmured a prayer for her soul through cracked lips, despite the unspoken rule of the prisoners not to pray for lost souls. My hands were before me, joined together, my head angled towards the skies. Towards a God, who I knew, wasn't there.
I felt a presence beside me. My jailor. He would raise me to my feet roughly and command me to rejoin the line. I stiffened, ready to rebel despite the fatigue that assaulted every inch of my being. My wait was in vain. He did not touch me. I looked up at him, the loathing for him showing in my eyes. He wasn't looking at me. In fact, he was oblivious to my presence. He knelt down as I had minutes ago.
His hands went to the ring of keys at his waist. He slowly withdrew a key from the bunch. A silver key. It looked small in his hand, insignificant, belying its true worth. It was the freedom of a human being. No matter. She wouldn't need it now.
He unlocked the manacles at her wrists and gently removed them, leaving behind blood stained wrists, graceful fingers. Fingers devoid of life. He rose, still staring down at her. He had the chains in his hand. His fingers were curled around them. Tight with anger and sorrow. He uncurled his fist and they fell to the sand. The greedy sand, always hungering for more. Swallowing hope, memories, life. The manacles sunk into the soft sand, the red of the blood still showing through the yellow. Above us the sun shone still. Fiery, merciless.
Short story by shar
Read 760 times
Written on 2007-02-20 at 16:22
Tags Desert Prisoners Redirons
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
RED IRONS
Blistering heat in the day, followed by chilling nights. A stark reminder of the unforgiving desert. Lips cracked, skin drier than dry. It was unending torture for us travelers. Travelers? Nay, prisoners. We were prisoners. Adding to the heat and torture, thick iron chains, red with rust and blood, bound our hands and feet. Heavy manacles round our wrists that turned the skin raw. No respite were we offered. Our captors traveled atop beasts of the desert and we stumbled our way after them on foot, detesting captivity but terrified of being left alone among the eternally shifting dunes. The landscape changed before our very eyes.Other prisoners had perished along the way. Not a word, indeed not even a whisper passed from their lips as they collapsed into the fine, enveloping sand. We did not mourn them. We were waiting for the sweet release from our yellow, boiling prison with its heartless wardens. Guardians that would gladly watch us die.
Lurid, green cacti rose up from the sand, reaching up for the clear blue skies, pleading for relief. Ahead in the distance a scream of agony. One scream of mortal fear. Ending a life. No one flinched. It was commonplace. Screams of pain, anguish, loss. We had been through it all. I blindly followed the direction of the tugging chains at my wrist. I stumbled over something. A rock? No, it was a human hand. Dry, dry as the dust it rested on. My eyes traveled up the hand, to the shoulder, the calloused slender neck and then the heart shaped face. A serene face that smiled at me through lifeless eyes. Blue green eyes. Mesmerizing eyes. I knelt down, my knees touching the hot sand. I didn't notice the heat seeping through. I reached out, my hand quivering, and gently closed her tragically beautiful eyes. Her lids drew down over her eyes one last time, shutting out the world. Unjust, cruel world. I murmured a prayer for her soul through cracked lips, despite the unspoken rule of the prisoners not to pray for lost souls. My hands were before me, joined together, my head angled towards the skies. Towards a God, who I knew, wasn't there.
I felt a presence beside me. My jailor. He would raise me to my feet roughly and command me to rejoin the line. I stiffened, ready to rebel despite the fatigue that assaulted every inch of my being. My wait was in vain. He did not touch me. I looked up at him, the loathing for him showing in my eyes. He wasn't looking at me. In fact, he was oblivious to my presence. He knelt down as I had minutes ago.
His hands went to the ring of keys at his waist. He slowly withdrew a key from the bunch. A silver key. It looked small in his hand, insignificant, belying its true worth. It was the freedom of a human being. No matter. She wouldn't need it now.
He unlocked the manacles at her wrists and gently removed them, leaving behind blood stained wrists, graceful fingers. Fingers devoid of life. He rose, still staring down at her. He had the chains in his hand. His fingers were curled around them. Tight with anger and sorrow. He uncurled his fist and they fell to the sand. The greedy sand, always hungering for more. Swallowing hope, memories, life. The manacles sunk into the soft sand, the red of the blood still showing through the yellow. Above us the sun shone still. Fiery, merciless.
Short story by shar
Read 760 times
Written on 2007-02-20 at 16:22
Tags Desert Prisoners Redirons
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Mark J. Wood |
|
Parnika |
| Texts |
 by shar Latest textsMusic-lover'Strung' over B.A (Be a) 'different'! Paying it Forward. Justified |
Increase font
Decrease