This is something I wrote randomly, without any thought to where I might take it. I'm curious to see what people think of it, so all comments are appreciated, no matter how small. This might be a story I continue, if the reviewers think it shows any promise. Sorry for the lame title. Here goes.
A single bullet is all that is needed to kill a man. As long as you have good aim, that is.
But who would miss a sitting target? I wondered.
I assumed that is what would happen to him. I was naive. What can I say? It was only my second day at the prison. And I was thirteen.
I never imagined anyone could scream so loud, let alone myself. He was having his eyes removed, and the sounds he was making was too much for my ears to handle. I ended up screaming louder than the man himself.
I can vaguely remember being slapped several times, hard, and then finally escorted from the room. I imagine this was because the guards’ ears were starting to ache from my screeching, and not an act of compassion. These men were uncapable of compassion. Driven by fear. Fear of my people; the ones with the eyes.
I was thrown back into my cell, where I landed in a shrieking heap upon the dark concrete. The iron barred doors clanked shut, and the guard told me I would not be receiving any rations for the next two days for being such a disruption.
A fortnight later, I was allowed to eat again. A half-bowl of cold, watery soup. The other prisoners gulped theirs down in a matter of seconds, but I stopped and stared at the thin, translucent broth. If I looked hard enough I could see my reflection; my excessive amounts of wavy, light brown hair were neglected and appeared animalistic and caked with grease. What was normally a healthy, cream colored shade of skin was hardly visible underneath multiple layers of grime and dirt. Tiny streaks were left by a few dried tears. I followed the trails back up to my eyes. My sunken, angry eyes. How much I hated these eyes. One was dull, a cross between stone gray and pale, moss green. The other was a faded shade of indigo. I broke the connection with my own gaze and looked away. I hated them. If only I had two green, or two indigo, I would not be here. None of us would be here.
I brought the soup up to my lips. Slivers of rotted vegetables floated at the bottom, hardly enough to count as a spoonful. Not that we were given any spoons, but I still remembered what a spoon was like. Just before the broth reached my lips, I remembered that they had used spoons to gouge out his eyes with. My stomach lurched, and I set the bowl down with trembling hands. Two days after the event, and my appetite still hasn’t returned.
I knew that if I couldn’t force it down, the best thing would be to give it to one of the many needy prisoners. I looked around me; they were all strangers. No one spoke, mainly because we would be in trouble if we did. Everyone kept to themselves in their own separate cells, unable to find the means to risk conversation. Making friends had been the last thing on my mind since arriving here, but now, looking around at all the strange, unfamiliar faces, I felt very alone.
In the cell adjacent mine there was a boy, roughly the same age as I was. He seemed as good as any to receive my ration. There were no guards near us at the moment, so I quietly scooched over to where our cells met, curling my fingers around the metal bar and peering in at him. He was leaning up against the far side of the cell, his knees drawn up to his chin. He might’ve been sleeping, but he soon became aware of my presence. He continued staring at me without comment, until I finally decided to break the silence.
“Hey,” I whispered just loud enough for him to hear me, “Come here.”
He didn’t move. He gaze seemed to travel on, like he was looking through me instead of at me.
“Hey,” I tried whispering again, and this time he blinked, refocusing his gaze. I beckoned him to come closer with my finger. This time he seemed to register the command, and after another moment’s pause, stood up slowly and then plopped himself down next to me on the other side of the bars. He refused to meet my gaze, and turned his head so it was facing towards the hall.
“What?” he whispered.
“Take my ration,” I said.
At this, he turned, staring at me incredulously. He was now close enough that I could see his eyes. One was solid magenta, the other hazel. Curly brown hair drooped over his eyes like a rag mop.
“Why?” he asked, an air of suspicion in his voice.
“I don’t want it.”
“What do you mean you don’t want it?”
“I have no appetite. Not for a while.”
He shook his head at me, his wave of brown curls sweeping across his forehead as he did so.
“No. You need that.”
“No, I don’t,” I argued, “Just take it, alright?”
“What are you trying to do, starve yourself?” he whispered harshly.
“Of course not,” I retorted, “Look, I’m not hungry, and I’d rather someone finish it before the guards come and take the bowls back.”
He huffed. “It’d be like aiding someone in their death wish.”
“Look, I’m not going to shut up until you accept.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
I waited a long moment before he finally sighed and again turned towards me.
“Fine. I’ll take it. Just don’t let me hear you complaining about an empty stomach.”
“Not a peep,” I assured him, moving to retrieve the soup.
As soon as I returned with the bowl, I realized that it was too large to fit through the bars into his cell.
“This might be a problem,” I said, pressing the bowl up between the metal as far as it would go.
“Oh,” he said, slightly downfallen.
“Wait, I have an idea. Bring your head close to the bars.” He seemed confused, but leaned in. “No, closer. I’m going to try to feed it to you.”
“Feed it to me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, see? Now your mouth can touch the bowl and all I have to do is tip it down for you while you drink.”
“Oh,” he paused for a second, “That’s smart.”
“You gonna eat it or what?”
“You‘re bossy,” he huffed.
“Ready?” I asked again.
“Ready.”
As he drank, I tipped the bowl slowly, making sure that I didn’t splash his face with the soup. It took less than a minute for him to finish it all, and in the end, only a few drops were spilled.
I kept to my promise, taking the empty bowl and moving back in my cell without another word.
