I would very much appreciate it if you could do the same thing for this. Nobody got back to me on it and I would love some feedback. It is quite long, so if you only want do some of it that is still absolutely great.
The prison was small and dimly lit. The bars on the four cells were slightly rusted, but still sturdy. A simple wooden chair with three well-worn cushions was currently occupied by Antaeus, the prison guard. Although you cannot tell while he is residing there, the indent in the bottom pillow taken up by Antaeus’ sizeable behind maintains in this position even while he has departed, due to the extended periods of time he spends there. Antaeus was annoyed. In the small village of Brickets, there are never criminals. It is a successful fishing community, a prosperous one. At a reasonable thirty-four years of age, having been a prison guard since he was a seventeen, Antaeus found that he had mainly been paid for sleeping. Of course in the first few weeks he hadn’t been quite so apathetic. Dedicated, consistent, alert, hard working to earn his pay: the opposite of his current attitude. After all, what is the point in being all of those things when ninety-nine of one-hundred nights there is no-one to guard. The rare night there is someone - an urchin stealing food, a woman accused of adultery – what point is there in guarding them? The keys secure on his belt were all that was needed to keep them here.
When he had first started as an apprentice prison guard he had quickly been taught by his retiring predecessor everything you needed to know; sleeping in the comfy chair. Antaeus felt proud of his greatest achievement in this job: adding the two extra pillows to the sides of the chair, as Antaeus’ fatty form was wide enough to press against either hard edge, making sleep difficult. Antaeus actually considered at one point simply dragging a bed down here, but thought this might be pushing it. But tonight was different. Three of the four cells were occupied. Antaeus did not think he would be sleeping today. In the first cell was the child. Could he even call him that? Antaeus did not know. The Chief had described the scene to him, such that Antaeus could not believe. The villagers were calling the orphan boy called Ken a demon, a monster. Nobody had liked him before, the adults did not care for him and the children had made sport of him. Antaeus’ own boy had been one of those who regularly tormented Ken. Antaeus had had no problem with it; just boys being boys he thought. Besides, Ken was always strange looking, hugely underdeveloped for his age (a body more like a six year old than a thirteen year old), and of course those huge unforgettable green eyes and fluffy thin tufts of hair hardly covering his head. Something about him provoked a negative reaction in all of the villagers it seemed, including the children. But now Antaeus shuddered. Thank the Gods his son had been ill this whole week or perhaps he would have been with the others when it had happened, and Antaeus might have been one of the parents burying this evening.
In the second cell was a tall wiry man wearing rags that revealed unusually long arms blanketed in a multitude of curly grey hairs. His bushy beard was also thick, grey and curly, obscuring most of his face. His two dark eyes poked out from the mess of tangled fur. He was standing at the front of his cell, those gorilla-like arms hanging on Antaeus’ side of the bars. He was staring straight at Antaeus. This, as much as the demon child, unnerved Antaeus and made sleep impossible (coming from the man who famously slept right through an earthquake strong enough to shake the books in his house off their shelves and have his wife running for the hills). Antaeus knew this man from the village too, a bum, known by all as useless Ulysses. He had been imprisoned today for attempted rape of a young girl, whose name Antaeus did not know. Antaeus found this charge difficult to believe, Ulysses rarely moved from his spot in the shade of the apple orchard during summer, or the cover of the apple orchard during winter. Certainly Ulysses had never showed passion or interest in anything as far as he could see. Antaeus gaze moved to every point in the room - apart from the one place he wanted to look - as he rocked back on his comfy chair. Finally he glanced at Ulysses to see he was still staring at him, seemingly unblinkingly.
“Get your arms back in your cage!” Antaeus growled, suddenly very uncomfortable. His voice broke however, removing whatever authority he had managed to pluck up from his normally jovial voice. Nevertheless, Ulysses silently withdrew and slumped in the back of his cell, resting against the wall. Antaeus nodded his head stupidly, happy for Ulysses to be removed from immediate view.
The final occupied cell appeared at a glance to be empty. Closer inspection revealed there was a man in there, his strange darkly coloured skin blending into the murky cell. A man with black skin! Think of that! Antaeus could not believe it until he saw him, he had never seen such a thing before. He looked awfully strange to Antaeus. He was not only black-skinned but huge, a head taller than any man in Brickets. According to those who had first met him in the village he was quite friendly, but he was arrested and taken here nonetheless. The chief of the guard had to kowtow to the wishes of the villagers, who demanded the black-skin man be locked up. The greatest supporters of this aggressive policy came from the butcher and his wife whose two children had been killed by the demon-child. They believed strongly that demons were launching an assault on the village; the child Ken, and this man with black skin.
All in all Antaeus was totally flustered, overwhelmed. He had rarely been in this situation and on the few occasions when he had, his reaction had been to sleep it off, worry about it later. But who could sleep or keep a cool head in the presence of two possible demons and one possible rapist?
Antaeus’ various worried thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the stark sound of a child crying. When they brought the child here he had still been asleep. For just a moment Antaeus felt sorry for Ken. He pictured his own son in the same position, trapped in a dank cell, alone and crying, no mother or father. He felt pity. Then Antaeus remembered his earlier vision that his son could easily have been one of the victims of this monster. Antaeus remembered that demons don’t have parents. Antaeus felt only anger. He drew in a breath to shout for silence, however the air left him when he heard the low, bass voice coming from the third cell.
“Hush child. Calm. Hush now.” The voice was quiet and soothing. “Hush, back to sleep now. It’s alright.” The crying quietened until it was just barely audible sniffing. The black man had moved to the front of his cell. Now his eyes moved to Antaeus.
“You keep a child in prison? I would be interested to know what his crime could be.” There was a soft chuckle. “Indeed, I would be interested to know what my own crime is.” The gaze was intense and unwavering. His manner of speech was...Kingly. The most authoritative figure that Antaeus had known his whole life was the chief of the guard, and his authority was born of rank. But this stranger’s voice alone, even while wearing nought but a loin cloth and behind thick iron bars in jail, was hugely compelling.
“Demon...” Antaeus mumbled inaudibly. The black man’s eyebrows raised questioningly.
“A demon? Obviously you and I have different definitions of demons.” He said, the corners of his mouth twisting a little upward. Antaeus frowned. Obviously it wasn’t inaudible, he thought, angry at himself for looking stupid in front of this man he didn’t know.
“...no. I mean, well, he killed three. Children. He killed three children.” Antaeus concluded lamely, again cursing his awkwardness. The black man nodded. No further reaction, not even surprised to find such an innocent looking creature to be capable of such a crime.
Suddenly a new face appeared at the bars of the second cage. It was Ulysses.
“He killed the Butcher’s two girls and the son of the hunter, didn’t he?” Antaeus at first was shocked, and for a few moments didn’t say anything. Then he realised Ulysses had guessed those three because they were Ken’s most regular tormentors. Along with Antaeus’ own son.
“Yes, he did.” Replied Antaeus simply.
“Good on ya son! I’ve seen them, oh yes me, i been watching, I see what they do to you. Surprised it’s taken this long, a little surprised me. I see how angry you is after every time they do these things to you, how you go and scratch and smash at the pieces of wood, oh yes seen these things. Surprised me, surprised it’s taken this long.” Ulysses gave a gleeful smile. Antaeus was again surprised, an emotion he was finding himself far too familiar with over this night. The most he had ever heard Ulysses communicate was a grunt of confirmation. This rant was very uncharacteristic. And his thick accent! Not a local certainly. Antaeus realised that he had never even considered that Ulysses could have come from somewhere other than Brickets.
“I wasn’t trying to! I couldn’t stop it! I didn’t want to. I didn’t. Didn’t want to...” The boy started sobbing again, as loud as before, but this time he was pressed up against the bars, as if trying to force his way out. Once again the black man hushed him until he was quieter. Ulysses was now staring at the child, an ugly smile on his ragged face. Ulysses, while never quite serene, had at least always been passive, it was for this that the villagers had tolerated his presence, even if they hadn’t liked it. But this new Ulysses was active: his eyes twinkled a little, but not in a good way, more like an evil glint.
The black man turned to Ulysses now.
“And you? What is your crime?” Ulysses reluctantly removed his eyes from the child, looking the black man up and down.
Ulysses muttered something, shook his head, and slumped again at the back of his cell. The black man smiled a little at this and turned to Ken.
“Child, tell me your name.” Ken looked at the black man. The look was distrustful, but it was the distrustfulness of someone who wanted to trust.
“My name is Scaerzimek. Now yours.” Ken could not help but feel that he had to tell him, he did not understand why.
“My name is Ken.” Said the child. He licked his lips nervously afterwards.
“I mean your full name.” Said Scaerzimek. The child frowned as if concentrating deeply. Antaeus thought he looked so very young when he did this. So innocent.
“My full name...” Ken murmured, still thinking.
“Yes. Your true name I mean.” Said Scaerzimek, more intense than ever, apparently eagerly awaiting the response, although Antaeus could not think why it would be so important.
“Kenneth. Kenneth is my full name. I do not know how I know that. I’m sure no-one has ever called me that.” Suddenly a voice floated in from the second cell. After skulking away, Ulysses had reappeared again like an apparition.
“Born of fire...” he whispered. Ken looked puzzled.
“It is the meaning of your name, the power behind it.” Scaerzimek explained, his eyes twinkling a little. There always seemed to be some humour in the Black man’s eyes, perhaps a ruefulness? Like he understood a sad irony you didn’t. But this was not a bad thing, in fact, it was endearing.
“You will find it to be fitting, methinks.” Said Ulysses, whose unpleasant stare was again resting on the boy. Ken however appeared not to notice and looked, smiling, at Scaerzimek.
“What does your name mean?” he asked.
“My name has no meaning,” replied Scaerzimek. The boy was clearly dissatisfied by this and more than a little disappointed. Ulysses glanced for a moment at Scaerzimek before returning his attention to Ken. Antaeus had not yet seen him blink.
“What happened to you?” Kenneth asked curiously. Scaerzimek raised his eyebrows.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you burn yourself? All over?” Ken’s head was cocked a little to the side. Scaerzimek realised that he was talking about his skin, and chuckled.
“Where I come from, we all look like this.” He replied.
“Why?” Ken asked, with the simple curiosity of the young. Scaerzimek realised he had never thought about it. Antaeus decided suddenly that all of this talking was too much. He liked peace in his prison.
“No conversing between prisoners,” said Antaeus. Scaerzimek did not even glance in his direction. Antaeus felt more than a little deflated when Scaerzimek ignored him and asked Ken,
“What happened to those children? I do not believe you are a demon. I have seen demons. They are not hard to spot.” Ken’s face seemed to turn instantly ashen, and he twisted into himself, backing away into the darkness of his cell.
“Still feel the evil...” He murmured and brushed at his clothing subconsciously.
“Feel the evil...” repeated Scaerzimek under his breath, frowning. Ulysses stepped up to the bars on his cell that were closest to Scaerzimek.
“Just leave the child alone, that is what methinks. You is just giving him a headache is all – aye, and me one at that.” Scaerzimek looked dubiously at Ulysses, but fell silent.
Now Ulysses turned and spoke to Ken - a question. Here we come to yet another point where the barriers of time are weak. Because time is not a constant – it slows down and speeds up. When Ken heard the question from Ulysses, a million possibilities pulsed up and down his body in the blink of an eye. Possible futures in which everything Ken could imagine could come true. In which all of the wildest dreams of anyone could come true. It is unclear at this point as to whether this sudden epiphany was a genetic reaction to the awakening of a never before tapped resource, or merely the product of the over active imagination of a boy who was far too intelligent for his meagre years, and far too powerful. But that does not matter, either way the result is the same. What matters is the question and the answer.
“Now boy, you answer me this little question, see.” Ulysses glared into the darkness where Ken had retreated, and gave a frighteningly wide, toothy grin. The teeth were pitted black and rotted yellow. “You can get out of this cage, see. Can’t you? It cannot hold you. Can it? Not you.”
Everyone in the prison looked towards Ken’s cell. After an era, a tinny voice answered from the darkness. The sound was weak and childlike, but the words were powerful and true.
“It cannot hold me.”
Antaeus had the sudden, powerful feeling that he had totally lost control of the situation.
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Topic: ___/The Writer's Apprenticeship\___ (Read 300614 times)