|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Oct 28, 2012 12:20 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 28, 2012 1:21 pm
 |
|
|
|
Week I- Day: 001- Prompt: New Beginnings- Word Count: 1061
Entry- for 28 Oct. 12:
There wasn't a single thing that he wanted more than freedom, more than revenge. The damp cell from where he sat offered little comfort and amplified his desires. Murder they had said. Murder, they had said, he commited. He neither remembered the incident nor remembered ever seeing the victim. His pleas went unheard and he was faced with some jail time and a death sentence that was to be carried out in a matter of a few hours.
The aroma filled the room before he could see the last meal he requested. The contents grotesque to view and the smell worse than previous meals. They were taunting him. They were just waiting for the hours to pass. One less criminal to take care of. He wasn't hungry but poked around the food on the tray in front of him. A few minutes passed when he noticed something odd about this last meal, a crumpled piece of paper was buried beneath the goo.
"I believe you. Believe you aren't guilty. I can help you. Do you wish for freedom? Do you think you can escape?"
He reread the note in his hand several times before deciding that it was simply a cruel game. Nobody believed him. Why should they? The world had been told that he commited such an atrocious crime and the world had believed it. He needn't be guilty for the world to pin him as such. The paper crumpled in his fist as a new flame of fury over came him at this new taunt.
There wasn't a knock at the door before the guards marched in. There were two of them to escort him to his death. He knew that it was time. One guard glanced at the unedlible mush that still filled the tray and remarked about the quick death from a lack of substance. What a pity that there wouldn't be any fight. The inmate clutched his fists together, the note still held firmly in his right hand. Perhaps this is what it had meant. Perhaps they wanted a fight. As much as he didn't want to give them what they wanted he had contemplated fighting his way through. Although, it was nearly impossible to escape maybe they would kill him during the chase and be unable to present him to the unlookers looking for a good death.
Before he had thought of his actions he slammed the palm of his left hand against the bottom of the nearest guards nose ramming it up into his brain. Turning quickly he narrowly missed being hit with the baton of the other guard who noticed the fight. The guard remarked again, this time joyed by the fight against death. The inmate couldn't recall the events or his actions. He did only has he had done for years. Allowed instincts to save him from the inevitable.
Both guards laid against the cold cement floor unmoving. He stripped one of the ear com he had been wearing and put it in his own ear. This way he may have a little heads up of where the guards were coming from. They all communicated through the ear coms. As soon as he put it on he knew that others were headed to subdue him while the building was being put in lock down. He didn't have much time.
"You actually did it," the voice echoed in his ear. He couldn't tell it to be a male or female voice but he definatly new it wasn't a voice he had been hearing as he tried to make it quickly and unoticed to the exit. He didn't respond to the voice but he didn't have to either, "Funny, you are beginning to think you will make it to the exit." He tried to ignore the voice, though it was right. "What is the point of the effort though. Once you are on the outside they will hunt you. Never to be free again."
He stopped moving and stood there. The voice was right. They were just going to hunt him down relentlessly. He would never be free to do as he pleased. What was the point in fighting? The voice spoke again. "Do you gamble?" He didn't answer. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to care. The voice spoke again into his ear, "You do gamble. Everyday you gamble your life. Today let us again gamble your life." The voice paused then resumed, "Escape and I'll make you a free man but you will owe me a favor or two." He chuckled outloud. That was definatly a gamble. Nobody could make him a free man the whole world had known of his guilt and one couldn't just erase the minds of the world. But the offer was intriguiging. Besides perhaps he could live just a few more days, have a few more days to seek his revenge. That was all he asked within his thoughts. A few days.
The voice in his ear warned him of oncoming guards, told him where to go in order to avoid the most of them. He dealt with the few he came across as quickly as possible so he could move on. His own ability to continue to move only pushed forward with adrenaline. He hadn't the strength to pursue this from the beginning. The few good attacks from the guards were beginning to wear on him. The only thing that kept him moving forward was adrenaline. Adrenaline and that voice in his ear that the others could not hear.
Finally he reached the open air outside of the compound. He had not the slightest idea where to go. He did know that he would not be able to go much further. He had not yet spoken to the voice and just when he was about to it answered his question. Telling him that shelter could be found to the west only a few hundred feet. It seemed unlikely but he didn't care. It was a good run even if he was caught. He was tired, he was nearly unable to move. He reached the area and found himself a cozy little area mostly hidden. Collapsing where he stood he could feel his eyelids heavy. Just before he passed out he heard the voice one last time.
"Good night Zachariah. Welcome to your new beginning."
Week I- Day: 001- Prompt: New Beginnings-
Entry- for 28 Oct. 2012 ::
Dear Diary,
I write because I'm told I must. It will please the people around me. I suppose that is all I can ask for now. I'm just so sick of their nagging. They say they want to help me but in reality I know that they just want to change me. Change me at the very core of who I am.
The main problem about all of this is, I'm not entirely sure what they are trying to fix. I see no problem with anything about me. They do, obviously, but I do not see or feel it.
ugh, Now all I feel like I'm doing is whining onto an empty notepage. I guess I feel a little better being able to vent. Maybe this will help for that at least.
I'm being called now. I'll leave with this short entry.
-me.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 12:24 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
