by Amy Solus
Chapter 10
As I sit down on my bed, back to my heedless solitude in my cell, my thoughts overwhelm me. Yet again, I had gotten that great surge of hope and I am let down again. A wave of dismay passes through my body with the force of a gale-force wind.
I wonder what they’ve done. I don’t understand. Why would they hurt a mute? She’s done nothing. How can they even get a mute to admit to their charges? I figured she was just always with Mara because they’d known each other in the past, and nowadays a memory of a person can make you closer to them, let alone having an actual relationship. Something’s going on. And I need to know the answers.
I pay special attention to the guards that have to patrol the cellblock tonight. I have always ignored them, being that they are the constant reminder of where I am. But fortunately most of them have big mouths. And when big events happen, big mouths love to spill the beans about the big news.
A couple pairs of guards pass by, all talking about either women or the booze they hope to be drinking once they’re off work. I sit against the left wall, knowing they come from the left and if they saw me they’d ask what exactly it is I’m doing. The night gets darker and then two more guards have to walk down the cellblock and turn on all of our lights.
I hear their footsteps echo as they begin their journey down the row. I sit silently, wishing they would hurry up and start their gossip.
I wait for maybe ten minutes and then the footsteps are to the left of my cell. I slow my breathing down and put my head down and curl up into fetal position, a very popular way for us to sit in our cells. I can tell by the tiny shake the earth lets out when one of the men step that he’s one of the bigger guards, one that most likely has a big mouth. I listen carefully.
“Two of the girls that used to be on this cellblock are being questioned by the warden as we speak,” mutters the big one. They walk to the light that sits right outside my cell and take out the key that turns on the lamp.
“Well they should’ve just spoke up and told the truth while they had the chance. That warden sure isn’t one man I’d want to mess with myself,” says the smaller guard.
“Well they obviously aren’t smart enough. I know one of them was that mute girl that hangs around with the red-head. I have no doubt the warden can change her mind and finally get her to grace him with the sound of her voice.”
“Poor girl, even if she hasn’t done nothing, he’s still going to give her hell.”
The bigger guard looks over at me, I feel petrified. If they knew I was intentionally eavesdropping, I’d be punished no doubt.
He walks right up to my cell door and looks straight at my eyes, he purses his lips and looks like he’s trying to think of something he needs to say. As he stands there, I notice something about him that most guards lack.
He’s not butt-ugly, that’s one thing, but as I look back at him, I notice that he has kind, receiving eyes. Most guards have this sort of thing about them that makes them look like they don’t give a damn. Like they’re just a bunch of living, breathing stone walls, but this man is different. He’s got curly brown hair, a nice face, and by the circular mark on his neck, he probably gets along well with the ladies.
He doesn’t look at me like I’m a worthless piece of meat. He looks at me like I’m an actual human being and I see another thing I hardly ever see. Correction: I never see it. I see pity in his eyes.
I break eye contact with him and I look down back at the scratches laden on my floor. He grips one of the bars of my cell and then his friend turns around and looks at him with a bewildered look.
“Mate, you not been with that lady friend lately? None o’ the girls here are even worth thinking ’bout. We got to keep moving.”
The curly haired man looks down at me again and then he turns away and faces his partner. “Nah, that isn’t the problem. Let’s keep moving.”
They walk away, continuing to turn on all of the lamps, changing the subject to the girls they’ve been sleeping with and who’s been getting the most vicious beatings from the head officers.
As I sit there, with my arms wrapped around me in a death grip, I feel different. I feel like I need to watch out for that guard more often. He interests me. Why would a guard feel any compassion or pity for the prisoners he has to shepherd?
But then again, is this really what I should be focusing on? He said that Taylor was going to be taken to the warden and only God knows what that means.
I pick myself up and carry myself to my bed. I feel tired and exhausted, although I’ve done very little today. It’s probably depression or something. I can’t help but wonder if I’m even capable of throwing myself in the way of another’s death. I hope I’ll be able to, but I know that in my past I’ve had some problems with being the courageous one of the bunch. There’s so many questions that I need answered and I need to get out, to see the sun. I hate being locked up. I just want to be able to walk freely, to see a tree even. I feel so lost here.
I look at the ceiling of my cell that blocks the sky from my eyes. I know the sky is there though. I know it will always be, and that thought allows me to drift into sleep.
