Might just start posting what I've written that'll end up in my book. Everyone, meet Isaac!
Tuesday, 2nd of August, 2005.
Isaac hadn't closed an eye the whole night. The cell they were keeping him in was cramped, small, enough to make anyone feel claustrophobic.
Anyone but him. Those bastards had no idea who they were dealing with; he certainly wasn't scared of some bootlickers, he had fought them for a long time.
But he had no idea of the time or his current position, and had no way to contact the outside. And he was tired. That wasn't the first time that he hadn't slept, but considering the circumstances, he was feeling even worse: his eyes were unfocused, his body sore.
"I'm fucked", he thought, almost jokingly...
He tried again to lean his back on the wall but that stupid chain digged into his body. They had collared and chained him. "Ridiculous", he found that humiliating but he didn't wanna think about it.
Some minutes passed. He didn't move or make a sound, his eyes roaming on the dark walls of that cell to avoid thinking 'bout anything else; and as his gaze landed on the door, he heard some noises from the outside: someone was unlocking it.
Isaac felt a rush of adrenaline through his body and pushed himself forward in his sitting position, waiting, ready for any possible confrontation.
The door opened, revealing a gruff-looking man in a sort of uniform. Isaac kept his gaze on him as he made his way into the cell.
The man looked like he was in his 60s, his steps were calculated, uncaring, a baton was tied to his belt: he was a guard. Not a reassuring figure, for sure.
He stopped just a few centimeters away from Isaac, looking at him in the eyes with an ambiguous intensity, not with disdain or cruelty, and the prisoner noticed it, but that was starting to feel invasive.
"What the hell is this?"
Isaac asked when a tray of something that was supposed to be food was placed on the wooden backing he was sat on.
"The food you'll have today."
The man replied, already turning to the door. That was the only thing the guard would have said to him for a long time.
Isaac was baffled. He couldn't let the bastard leave just like that. So he stood up quickly, questioning:
"What do y'all plan to do with me, uh?"
The guard stopped and simply looked at him. There was no answer to the prisoner's words, just silence and the man's uninterested gaze.
Because of that, Isaac wanted to test the waters some more, so he made sure to be heard as he addressed the guard.
"Bastard."
That was it. One derogatory adjective that displayed perfectly the hatred he felt towards those who abused their power to hurt others.
But the silence dragged on, and the man, seemingly unfazed by the comment, left, locking him inside.
"Goddamnit..." He cursed under his breath, then sat back, his fists clenching on the cold wood.
The tray the bastard brought was next to him. But he didn't care at all, he had no intention of eating whatever was in there.
Instead, he thought of the day before; the shouts, the chaos, then the appearance of the military was when the true horror began: gunshots, gas, people beat up by those fucking fascists, fire, smoke... Then his capture.
His body stiffened.
His allies... How many of them were caught? How many killed?
His rebellion... Was it all over? Had they failed their mission? Who would've rescued him? What would've happened from that moment on?
Isaac couldn't know, and he was sure that no one would have told him anything in there, the other bastards would've never.
He shook his head, wanting to regain some sort of control of the situation, as useless as it was.
He terribly wanted to stretch his muscles, to move, to not feel so trapped.
Several minutes passed, thirst was starting to bite at Isaac's throat, and of course no water was given to him.
He stared at the locked door, knowing he had to find a way to get out of that place. He had to reconcile with his group - or whoever survived the raid - and restart the project, or everything they had done until then would have been a failure, and he couldn't allow it.
But he was powerless and well aware of that.
Hours passed, no one came in the cell, and that stupid collar was starting to feel more and more invasive, not to mention how ridiculous it was making Isaac feel.
His tired eyes shifted to look faintly at the gray concrete walls; they reminded him of the previous guard's expression: stoic, immovable, devoid of any sympathy, just a cog in the corrupt machine that ruled their everyday life.
Isaac closed his eyes, leaning his head on the wall, as uncomfortable as it was.
He was alone, alone with his thoughts that were anything but tranquil, thirsty, frustrated, and exhausted.
