My Prisoner


"Your food, miss," he said gently, taking me away from my thoughts. I continued to gaze longingly out of my prison cell window for a bit longer– the sky was so blue and bright , and the white, puffy clouds looked close enough that I could almost feel their softness brush against my cheek.

Slowly, I turned my head to look at the boy who was addressing me. The tray he had slid under my gate was thin and made of cheap, gray-brown plastic. On it was a small roll, stale no doubt, a few carrots, and a small jug of water.

But it was the boy who held my attention, looking at me with his soft, deep brown eyes. His hair was a thick chocolate brown, with lighter brown highlights that complimented his eyes. I had decided a few mothers ago, when I had first been brought here, that he was about sixteen years old, my age.

"You should really eat something, miss," he urged me. I did not know his name. For some reason, I was very bothered by this.

Then he did something that stunned me. I wasn’t even aware I was capable of feeling anything but despair at that point. The boy dug into the pocket of his very faded and dirty jeans to retrieve a pair of keys. He picked one out, jammed it into the lock, and opened the gate.

My green eyes, which long ago had been bright but had probably faded over time, if that were even possible, widened with shock, but I did not move. I couldn’t have even if I had wanted to. I was too weak from letting my trays of food pile up in front of the gate, untouched.

"I knew you wouldn’t try to escape," the boy said, partly to himself after he had stepped aside from the door for a few seconds to test me. "You’re too weak." He walked through the door, entering my cell, then latched the door behind him.

This time my eyes widened in fear. This boy had never laid a finger on me in the past. It often almost seemed like he didn’t want to hurt me. But here’s a first time for everything.

"Shh," he murmured, noticing my fear. "I won’t hurt you, miss. I promise." Why should I trust him? They were all the same, these people who took me. Cold, heartless creatures. Inhuman.

The boy approached me carefully, showing his empty hands in front of him for me to see. But I was too captivated by his eyes, watching for any indication that he would suddenly attack. He slowly took a few more steps forward. Now he was towering right above me in my tiny prison. I had never before noticed how tall he was.

"Shh," he said again, though I wasn’t about to break my months of silence. It had been months, hadn’t it, since I had been brought here? He bent down slowly and lifted me into his arms. His movements were deliberate and gentle, almost tender. But I knew better than to accuse one of them of being even remotely kind. He was probably taking me to what I had heard people refer to ‘the clinic’ for another checkup, though they usually sent a big burly man who yanked me up and carried me over his shoulder like I was a sack of feed. Let the blood curdling shrieks of my people begin.

But this boy gingerly lifted me up with one arm hooked carefully under my knees and the other wound securely around my shoulders. I did not try to fight him because I knew it would be pointless as he would easily overpower me. Though there was something else that I couldn’t quite understand. I felt strangely... safe, in his arms. It gave me a feeling of security that I instinctively did not trust.

"Don’t be afraid, miss. I will not hurt you," he said again. The boy managed to hold me away from him so we didn’t touch other then where he held me. I struggled to hold my head up, wanting to see what was happening. Stretching the arm around my shoulders so it alone held my thin body, the boy unlocked the door with one hand, walked through it, then locked it again.

"Now," he said quietly. His voice was gentle, but still managed to be firm. "I know that you don’t trust me, or anyone else here, but listen to me. You need to remain very quiet. If anyone sees us, we will both be very greatly punished."

The End

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