Prison part I

Clang. The doors opened, bringing with them light. He put up a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the light till they got used to it. This was how it had been since he had gotten here. The place was locked down at seven at night, whether there was light out, or no light out. The doors slid shut with a heavy drag over the stone floor. They were locked twice, from the inside, and from the outside by the two whose eyes held the keys. At seven in the morning, the doors would open, other than them, there was no source of light. The guards would be waiting outside, with batons, snipers would be ready on the towers and walls above, steady hands holding long rifles, lasers all pointing at the ground. The prisoners shuffled out, the guards braced themselves, they couldn't help it. This set of prisoners, in this prison was rowdy. They had been getting into riots all the time. They would come rushing out, uncaring whether the snipers shot them, not knowing that they wouldn’t, because it would be a publicity disaster. Unless the prisoners were doing fatal harm to the guards, which the prisoners usually didn’t. The guards braced themselves, they couldn’t help it.

The sun beat down hard, as if enacting its own punishment on these people who had flouted mankind’s laws. Broken them, decapitated them. The smell of mud, it had rained, and the sight of dust swirling around in the ‘lawn’, even though the grass had long since been sent to death row. The prisoners were edgy, restless. The shuffling of dozens of feet on the ground, rushing to get to the lawn, dozens of mutters under breaths, dozens of people breathing heavily, nervously. The ground felt hard and hot. The air was warm and sticky.

The guards braced themselves, they couldn’t help it. Yet there had been no incidents in eleven days. That was eleven days more than the previous record. It was habitual for them, at this point, habits engrained so hard that they probably would not have lost them by the time he was set free. It had been fourteen days since he had been imprisoned. No one had made the connection. No one had bothered. One day to mull in silence, moody, inviting. One morning to be beat down. One evening to kill the man. One day to set the plan in motion. Everything had happened just like they had said it would. He had followed their instructions to the letter. He enjoyed this. It was like playing a game of chess. Everything was predictable. Everything had a place, a way of moving. And it was. And it would. There was no incident today. The guards rushed into the yard, some of them throwing looks at him, he didn’t mind. The guards would not make the connection. Not by the time he got out anyways. They weren’t underpaid, but a profession being a prison guard wasn’t exactly known for its intellectual stimulation. They were just hired to be walls of flesh and bone.