The prisoner

A short story about someone placed under "house arrest",the story is based on real occurrences.

The white walls of the room pushed inwards,  smothering, dull, the only respite was the uneven surface, which they gave freely as if somehow, despite their utter banality wishing to provide an iota of entertainment, as if they possessed a pity for those that must dwell within them. The room was sparsely populated with basic furnishings, a bed, with a steel frame, painted grey, its springs making an awkward almost reluctant sound whenever it was sat or laid upon as if somehow to beg to be excused of the chore of accommodating rest. A round folding table, in dark wood, its surface chipped and the varnish whitened and flaking in places, one half of which was folded down permanently to save space in the 8 feet by 10 feet room, some books lay haphazardly across its surface, text books and novels from the Readers Digest collections bound in mock leather graced the edges and a wardrobe stood in the corner near the door, a grim sentinel, watching, guarding, it's sturdy appearance of mock oak with, two doors and a central plain mirror belied its rickety nature.

The floorboards of the room were bare, the gaps between the boards filled with a collection of dust and hair, they creaked and sighed in several places, groaning under the least strain as if as tired as the wardrobe, like the back of an old horse, no longer willing to bear the weight of their burden. The windows, plain and white, the frames rotting and blackened and always wet with the condensation that gathered there every day and the wall beneath had large ominously threatening growths of black mould, that sat as if to watch the events of the room, never leaving, never dissipating, feeding from the condensation that ran from the window ledge down the wall. The windows were adorned with a white net curtain, enlivened only by a simple floral pattern. The curtain ensured that what went on within could not be seen outside, it was a fence, not of barbed wire, merely a flimsy, unattractive limp fabric, supported on a wire that was held with nails at either end, but it was a a barrier, impenetrable and forbidding.

This room was a cell, its encapsulated subjects given only a few simple rules.

Do not under any circumstances go near the window.

Do not under any circumstances make noise of any kind.

You will be told when you are allowed to leave.

You are only to leave the room to use the toilet if the guard is not present, you are not to leave for any other reason.

Lastly, read the books, you may be tested. 

Any failure to obey the rules would be punished severely. The encapsulated understood the rules and understood the punishment, they had been subject to its severity sufficient times to fear it. If there had been a toilet in the room, the rule would have been administered to use it, most likely with the minimum of sound.

The encapsulated did as they were bid, they read, they kept as quiet as they could, even when the guard left the building as they could not be sure if they were to be heard or seen or when the guard would return, or in fact if the guard had ever in fact left. It had happened that on occasions the guard seemed to leave, but had in fact still been in the building, perhaps opening the main door and returning back for something that they had forgotten, perhaps it was to trick the encapsulated, to be sure they obeyed the rules.

It was a mistake to underestimate the guard even momentarily, the guards resolve and fervour for the delivery of punishment was beyond duty ,it was inherent, inexorable and the encapsulated understood this profoundly.

The guard it would seem, was not to be trifled with, violations of the rules would result in beating with a piece of wood, leaving the victim bruised, swollen, humiliated and in sufficient pain to last enough days to ensure the violation was seldom to be repeated. It was not merely physical, it was psychological, to affirm the assertion of power, to make sure the encapsulated understood that they were at the guards whim and will and that they did in a state of imbalanced terror, unlikely to renege against their better judgement again, mostly.

Tick.... tick.... tick....tick... tick... tick...

There are moments between the moments, that the free take for granted, and there are months within the years and weeks within the months and days therein and hours and minutes within them and seconds within them, each tick of the clock an intrinsic moment in your life, inescapable, unavoidable.

How long is a day? A week? Can you feel it? The encapsulated could. They could feel, almost taste every moment of the room, they were as much a part of it as the dirty creaking floorboards all seamlessly bound in the stifling confinement, devoid of everything bar the stimulation of each others company and the words and pictures of the books.

Ah yes, the books, the windows into the world outside, the lives of fictional characters, the white pages and the symbols forming those cleverly crafted stories by great authors, with occasional plate prints of illustrations and how those word sang to the encapsulated, how they exalted them, how the time could pass in the world of others, in the words that were like nectar to them.

It wasn't just the tastefully mock leather bound books that gave exuberant solace to the encapsulated, it was the text books too, history, biology, chemistry, English, French, mathematics, geography, they all sang like choirs into the minds of encapsulated, they gave great knowledge and allowed the minds of those bodies to leave the cell, to travel to other places, to be someone else, somewhere else, to soar beyond the confines of the physical situation and to be free.

In the evenings the guard allowed the encapsulated to move to the lower parts of the building, whereupon they could engage in some recreation, chess, monopoly, cards, sometimes television. The recreation was always with the guard, perhaps the guard needed to be stimulated, perhaps it was a service to the encapsulated, but always afterwards back to the cell.

The incarceration was not a state sanctioned punishment, far from it, it was at the behest of the guard, it was not a punishment but in fact a form of protection for the guard and actions of the guard, who did not want to be punished for his misdemeanours, so like a criminal hides his intents and actions, so did the guard.

The guard was not clever, but yet still forceful, tyrannical and cunning enough to ensure like all despots, that all indiscretions could remain hidden or even with the greatest hubris, could be protected by the sheer audacity of manipulation and open public display that would dispel even the most inquisitive cynics. 

Every few months, the encapsulated were allowed to visit family, they were to say nothing of the cell, nothing of the guard, they were to say that they had been away and that they were going away again and would return again in  a few months. They did not deviate from the instructions, they did not pass secret messages or codes, they played their parts and they returned to the building and the cell when they were done. This gave great solace to the family of the encapsulated who were happy, in the false knowledge that the encapsulated were free and happy and normal. They did not detect or decipher the lack of social ability or the inherent despair in the guards automatons, they were well programmed and they executed their parts immaculately. 

  For 4 years, the encapsulated lived in this manner, evading suspicion, embalming themselves with the rules, adhering, and self governing, without anything but rare outside stimuli, without hope or direction, without the reason to believe that anything might change, 4 years in the building and the cell. One day it did change.

In all things there is, for as long as one breathes air, one thing that cannot be withdrawn, detracted from, stolen or purged from us, it is the one thing that whether we can identify it or not, is referred to as hope, or endeavour, the simple, seemingly at times ineffectual spirit that not only allows, but drives us to survive and to move forward.