Prison part III

He sat curled up on his cot, head between his knees, arms hugging the latter. Would they come? It had been years since he had been sent here. He believed in the plan. He believed in them. But no word, for six years. It had been so long that he could feel the fire spreading over the earth, he could feel the land shivering under his feet, could feel water seeping out from the seas, trying to drown the world, or maybe those were the tears of an already dying earth. Two of his most trusted lieutenants stood outside, one on each side of his cell. Hands behind their backs. They had strict instructions. No one was to enter without permission. No one was to enter without being announced. His head was in between his knees, hands cupping the sides. He was rocking from side to side, ever so slightly. No one could come in right now, he was weak. He appeared weak. He did not want to demonstrate weakness. He was supposed to be the messiah, if not that, he was at least supposed to be a general in their war. Yet, they seemed to have abandoned him. No word, no sign. He was losing faith.

The prison was his, it was him, not the guards who ruled it, and yet he could not escape. They had said that they would shoot him, they would shoot his two children, the ones he had given away after his wife died giving birth to the second. They knew that he went to the park to see them sometimes. Adam’s children did not know him. It just felt good to him to know that they were doing well. Their adopted parents did not know him either. He was just a man who went to the park to bask in the sun. Or had. Now he was a man in a prison. He could not leave till they told him he could. Truth be told, he was still waiting, even though it had been years since he had heard from them. Truth was, he still believed. In them, in himself. He had faith. And that faith was a dangerous thing. 

The hours were still limited. They were still ‘let out’. The guards had to have some semblance of control so that they could continue to delude themselves as to who was in charge. Even though the guards were the ones serving the food at the cafeteria, and the ones cleaning the prison. Somehow they still believed they were in control. Or convinced themselves that they were. He smiled a little. He stretched, and got up. It was time to go outside.

He walked the bright, glaring corridors, all smells long gone, all darkness extinguished by light. It smelled sterile, and he breathed it in with relief, remembering how bad it had been his first few months. He had had to deal with many an uprising then. The prisoners got anxious, fidgety, the guards tried to wrest back the control they felt was slipping away from them.