P.O.W.: Prisoner of Wondering
Flash Fiction | 6 Minute Read
This story was written in response to the last-ever shared prompt in Fictionistas. If you are interested in the prompt, you can find it here. If you would like to read more stories based on this prompt, check out the comments in this thread post.
A Side Note from Nicole:
Before I continue on to the story, I would like to take a couple of lines here to thank everyone that has ever come here from Fictionistas, participated in the prompt parties and month-long celebrations I co-hosted there, or, like the magnificent
(if you’re looking for more fiction to read, head over to Jim’s Substack after this read!), provided some much needed behind-the-scenes cheerleading, reminding and expressions of interest in the project. My other Substack, Stop Writing Alone, was inspired by, and hopes to further encourage such collaborations between writers of all levels of experience and expertise, so to be able to be a part of The Great Substact Prompt Celebration for so long has been a dream come true. If you are a writer ever looking to collaborate in a similar way, don’t hesitate to direct message me — if my schedule allows, chances are I’ll be all in! In the meantime, let’s dive into some fiction.
This story is a 6 minute read.
Audio of the story, read by the author:
P.O.W.: Prisoner of Wondering
I’m tired of staring at the shadow on my cell wall, making hash marks of the days passed in this prison, eating meals unfit for my dog back home.
I can’t help but wonder, Is my dog back home?
The first five hash marks were so straight and orderly. I try to do the mental math of counting by fives, dividing by 365s, figuring out the years, the months, the days these hash marks all add up to, but it’s a moot point. Like I said, the food is crap and my brain is melting. I don’t think I can trust my mind anymore. I don’t even remember which war sent me here.
Some soldier I am.
This is not surprising, I was in it for the college money, not the patriotic duty. Mom thought it was a smart move. Things were peaceful back when I signed, the commitment carried no tangible threat. Maybe I would have understood the nuance of a serviceman’s surrender to political passions if I already had my college education, or if Mom had hers. We were the blind leading the blind.
But, listen to that! Here comes more food!
“I’m coming in!” someone shouts from the other side of my door. I’m impressed by how clear the guy’s English is, it seems I may have a new kind of keeper.
“That’s on you, dude,” I say. “I lost control of that door upon admission.”
The door clangs open and the kid –
I can say “kid” because I’ve aged while here and he looks like my once upon a time reflection.
The kid is empty-handed. He has no food, no drink, no washing bowl. What’s worse is he enters my cell and then SHUTS THE DOOR BEHIND HIM.
“Dude! What the hell?”
“I’m staying,” he says, walking around me, looking at all four walls like he’s a real estate agent sizing the place up for an open house.
“No. You’re not,” I say.
“It’s better here than in those woods out there!” he shouts, pointing out the hole I call a window.
“I bet you it’s not,” I say, pounding my fist on the back of the door.
“If you’re getting food instead of being hunted as food –” he pauses, looks down, and plops down on my sleeping mat. “I think you have the posher digs.”
“Yo! Get off my mat!” I’m on my knees ready to push him with both hands, feeling the deterioration of my long untested muscles.
He smoothly rolls off the mat before I get to him and into a cross-legged seated position against the wall. He raises one finger like he’s the Dali Lama imparting some great teaching as he says, “If you have a mat and a roof, and do not have to sleep on the bug-infested forest floor, I think you have it better.”
“But I am in prison!” I shouted. “I can not leave!”
“Have you even tried?” the dude says with a shrug.
I look over at all the hash marks again.
The first five were so straight and orderly.
I squint at them and wonder, When did this all begin?
I had gotten separated from my troop. I was in those woods. The kid was right, it was a mess out there. Nothing felt safe. The colors were familiar – greens and browns just like the forest back home – but the smells and the thickness of the air, the sounds, the shapes and the movements were all wrong. I didn’t know which way was up and I didn’t know what was chasing me. I only knew I was being chased.
I ran. In which direction, you ask? Forward! My goal was to run ahead of whatever it was that was behind me. There was a clearing – yes, I remember that now – the trees and the wilderness parted, the soil on the ground was packed tighter, like it was more solid and lived on in a civilized way and, most important of all, there was a building.
I ran up to the door, I didn’t care what was inside, because whatever it was, it had to be better than what was behind me, but I didn’t just barge in. I announced my entrance first. I shouted, “I’m coming in!”
A guy mumbled something from within, he sounded American. That was my all clear. I opened the door with a clang.
The guy was a mess. He looked like my uncle. He was mad that I closed the door. He wanted to get out when I wanted to get in. I remember that now. That’s how I got here, I ran in here, I opened the door just like he did.
…and here was someone else here. I remember that now,
too.
Where did he go?
I turn around, the shadow on the cell wall has moved.
I am so tired of staring at the shadow on my cell wall, making hash marks of the days passed in this prison, eating meals unfit for my dog back home.
Man… I wonder if my dog is back home.
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That’s really cool. I love it!