Silence

I'm writing this for my creative writing class, and I want to know what you guys think of it so far. It's about 1000 words about a prisoner in isolation. It's super short, I just want an opinion on it

           When I open my eyes, the silence is the first thing I notice. Total and absolute silence; something I haven’t experienced in nine months. It’s not the type of silence you hear when you leave the city, when you get away from the light pollution and you are able to just look up at the stars. No, it’s not that kind of silence. It’s the artificial kind, where the only thing between you and the noise is a 3-inch thick steel door; where the only thing between you and life is that very same 3-inch thick steel door.

            When my brain finally starts to turn on, I vaguely sense a pulsing in my knuckles and cheek. My face is sticky and my knuckles are streaked red with blood, so it’s probably safe to assume my face is too. I try to sit up but white-hot pain radiates from my side and causes my vision to blur. Taking deep breaths only makes it worse but it feels like my lungs aren’t getting enough air. Very carefully and with as little movements as I can manage, I get off my bunk and limp to the mirror. Turning on the faucet, I let the cold water soothe my aching knuckles and splashed some on my face, watching the pink water run down the drain. I don’t want to look in the mirror; I don’t want to see the swollen and bloody face of my reflection, but I have to look. I have to clean the wounds, for they will surely get infected in this disgusting place. Gingerly, I sweep my eyes across my reflection and can’t help but gasp in horror at what I see. My face, swollen and bruised, has stopped bleeding but is caked in dried blood much like my knuckles. My right eye is swollen shut and I have a gash above my eyebrow as well as a split bottom lip. The damage looks worse than it feels, at least until I take a deep breath, and then I’m reminded of the pain in my side. I lift my shirt, careful to not touch my aching ribs. I now know the source of my pain: all I see is a mix of yellow and purple extending from my lower armpit all the way down to my waist. I was definitely stomped by a guard wearing very heavy boots. I try recalling that night, but the only thing I can remember is yelling and pain; I must have hit my head because there are more gashes on my scalp and blood in my hair, as well as a very large lump on the back of my head. I begin trying to clean myself up, which is not easy considering the bar of soap they permit us and nothing more. I’m focusing on breathing through the pain when I hear the food hatch on my door unlock and open, and watch the guard outside slide in a tray full of slop. As I walk the 6 feet towards the door to collect the tray, I ask the guard “what happened last night? Why am I in the hole?” He waits for me to grab my tray and says nothing. I squat down, trying to get a look at the guards face through the hatch, but as soon as I remove my tray he slams the hatch shut and I hear the clank of the lock being slid into place, trapping me in my own personal hell.

            Days go by; at least, I think it’s been days. Maybe it’s only been hours. Maybe it’s been months; it’s impossible to keep time with no windows, no clocks. They’re leaving me to rot in here, in my own personal tomb. The only interaction I get is when the silent guard brings me my three square meals a day, and the only people I talk to are the voices that have suddenly started yammering in my head. I read articles in college on how isolation can affect the human brain, how zero interaction with others can make a person go crazy. It was one thing to read it, it’s completely different now that I’m experiencing it personally. The thought of college catches me off guard since it hasn’t crossed my mind in almost two years. I haven’t attended college in a very long time; perhaps if I had finished, it would have kept me off this highway to Hell. Trying to not dwell on the past, I bring my attention back to the problem at hand: I’m stuck in this box with no memory as to why, and I’m afraid that I’m starting to lose my mind. With no solution to my problems in sight, I try to think of ways to stay busy.

            I’ve received six trays of slop, meaning two days have passed since I’ve started trying to keep track of time. The silent guard has remained silent despite my many questions and a handful of threats; no one has been by to talk to me or to assess my current situation. That’s one of many downsides to prison; once you’re an inmate, you’re just a number. You have no rights, no freedoms, no privacy (unless you’re like me and you’re locked in a one-man cage), and they aren’t obligated to do anything but keep you alive, even if it’s only barley. So I have no idea how long I’ll be sitting here with nothing but my brain, pencil, and paper to keep me company. To pass the time, I start penning a letter to my daughter. She’s seven now, and as smart and beautiful as her mother, and she is what keeps me going. A pang of misery attacks my heart when I think how worried my family must be since they haven’t heard from me. Hopefully the warden at least told them where I was so they wouldn’t think I died, although if they knew the mental torture I was sure to go through due to this isolation, maybe death would be a more comforting alternative.

            The scraping of metal on metal is what woke me up. The thump of boots entering my cell is what made me sit up so fast I nearly hit my head on the top of my bunk. When I turn around to see who entered my cage, I find a hefty man in a freshly laundered suit: the warden. Before I can say anything, he spoke; “Inmate K9643012, stand up.” At once I shot to my feet, not wanting to anger the only man I’ve spoken with in I don’t even know how long.  He eyed me up and down, probably assessing my wounds. “You’ve got some bruises, don’t you boy?” he said in a voice that only came from being a two-pack a day smoker. I nod, unable to find my voice. “Speak when a superior addresses you, we’re not deaf,” he snaps. “Yes sir; I think I was involved in an altercation, but to be honest sir, I don’t remember. I believe I hit my head.” “Damn right you did,” he says as he crosses his arms, causing his muscles to strain against the form-fitting suit. “You attacked an inmate and almost killed him; It took five guards to get you off of him. You’re lucky he lived, or you would be going down for a murder charge.” My head is reeling at his words; Me attacking another inmate? Why? I didn’t have any problems with anyone; what he’s saying isn’t making sense. “I think its safest for everyone if you stay in here for a while, until you get a clear head. Wouldn’t want you getting into any more trouble,” he points at my ribs with his chin, a smug smile on his face. “The guards had to subdue you after you went after them, too.” I look down at my side; still an angry yellow with splotches of purple. “Stomping me seems a bit excessive, Warden. I am not a violent man sir, I’m here on drug possession, I’ve never hurt anyone in my life,” I tell him, panic starting to seep into my voice. Something is wrong here, something isn’t right. He gives me a malicious smile that sent shivers down my side and I know that he has an agenda for coming to see me. Apparently he sees the recognition of this enlightenment in my eyes because he continues; “You were violent inmate. The guards had no choice but to use excessive force, do you understand? You’re locked in here to keep everyone, including yourself, safe. We should probably hold off on phone calls and visits too, since you’re being so unpredictable.” The weight of his words is finally sinking in; He plans on keeping me in here. He doesn’t want me talking to anyone about what the guards did. But why would the guards go after me, I wonder to myself. As I start forming the words to ask the Warden that very question, he starts to turn and head toward the door, gifting me with another of his eerie smiles. As he turns and heads out the door, my questions still unanswered, panic takes over me; they can’t keep me in here! They can’t lock me in and throw away the key, I’ll die in here! “Wait Warden! Please wait,” I beg as he strides out the door. “Have a good day, scum,” he spats at me over his shoulder. More confused and panicked than ever, I feel my instincts taking over, and when I hear the metal on metal of the door being slide shut and the lock snapping into place, I throw myself at the door, pounding it with my fists until they’re numb and screaming, crying, begging for them to let me out. There is no one to hear me though, at least they don’t respond to my pleas. Once again, I’m alone in my cell with only the voices in my head to keep me company.   

(Although the story is not over, I’m stopping it here so I don’t write you a book. I hope you enjoyed)

                 

Author's Note

I'm writing this for my creative writing class, and I want to know what you guys think of it so far. It's about 1000 words about a prisoner in isolation. It's super short, I just want an opinion on it thus far (no, its not finished, not even close). I added on some parts to the end of the story.

Reviews

[Inject Positivity]

Okay, as far as the content of this write is concerned I think you did very well to pull out such a detailed work... You have constantly followed the rule "show don't tell" which I think gives extra qualification to the story... Right from the start it brought the place in front of the reader's eyes, especially with the details about the prisoner's body and how he is feeling with life... With each new paragraph you brought more and more little details in the story and captured the mind of the reader... What stands out more to me is its simplicity and neat and clean presentation and even though it is not ever near to the finish line, I think it has a satisfactory feel for the reader... A well constructed work with enormous possibilities...

Sincerely
Dhiman

[BlackWidow]

Thanks for the input, I really appreciate it!

[Stan Lee]

I thought it was great. There was some fantastic suspense happening and I liked your use of descriptive language and imagery. You pulled me right into the story and now I just want to know what happens next. Why is he there? I hope we get to see more! If/when there is, feel free to let me know! :)

[Anindita Janhabee]

Very much constructive. A reader surely feels comfortable with the words used here. The depth of the content is highly appreciated. I liked the way you managed to write beautifully, along with emotions through out the story. Although incomplete, it feels somewhat complete. Another good thing is how you did plot the entire context on a single man suffering with isolation. Recently, my beat friend is working on the same type of topic - prisoner, isolation etc. So I will surely ask him to read this stuff first...
Honestly, after a long time, I came across a nice story. Keep going... I request you, if possible then try writing more of this, extending the next part I mean... it will be really nice... Thanks....
Anindita : )

[Barbara Walker]

It grabbed my attention. Good imagery and pacing. I only noticed one error, using the word "barley", instead of "barely." (In reference to keeping him alive.) Good syntax and grammar. It reads like the beginning of a good story!

[SeanMcGregor]

You have lots of descriptive wording going on , I'm not sure if it is too much. I try to use simple wording with little bits of description but we are all guilty of going of into too much desription.There is more description going on than content at times.

Spelling and grammar looks good ( something I struggle with as I get too caught up with what I'm writing).There is too much of the pronoun 'I '. It is difficult not to use 'I' when the story is written in first person , although with practice you can get around that.

The story itself is interesting and I would read on . The last two paragraphs are much better than the the first two... Maybe because you're going more into your thoughts rather than direct action and there is a little less use of 'I' and much more content.

[BlackWidow]

Thanks for the advice, I'll take it into consideration :)

[SeanMcGregor]

No problem :)