Miser
If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness.
- (p. 14), 'Les Miserables' by Victor Hugo
Seconds are like hours, hours like years, and years like centuries. Work is like hard labor, hard labor like cruelty, cruelty like prison. Life is like an adventure, like a journey, like a quest. Until you are caught and sent to live life like you have fallen in the Island Closest to Hell. A life is still a life, though, isn't it? You steal feel the pain, physically and mentally. You still feel the regret and the possibility that you have missed or forgotten something. You still feel the way you let down and dishonored anybody who knew you and yourself. Yet, remember this, there is a way to get around it. To create your heart out of stone, to carve it with a blunt knife and to smooth it with a piece of plywood. To have the help of others with their harsh words, cruel beatings, and uncaring ways. To become Mr. Cellophane by Hyne and to be noticed by the devil. El Diablo, if that helps. To know that you are being formed into a demon and have your soul ripped from your body without your permission. You are no longer in control.
Staying at Trabia prison wasn't like heaven, but to tell the truth, what prison was? Let's speak sarcasm and say Supermax is worse than this place. The only difference is that they housed not only the most dangerous criminals, but ones who committed petty crimes that should go in another prison closer to the equator. Just so Trabia wouldn't be so full would probably be a more pleasable excuse. Not one that was kinder. Which one honestly put a poor man who just killed a piece of fruit without paying with a brute of a man who would clear out civilzation just to shut up the noise? Men who didn't have to become and inmate with these types and who gave less than a cat to poison. Those who cared as much as the guards who leaned back in their chairs and probably used the drugs they found in the prisoners cells who were now being given the punishment.
Snow fell from the skies that were clear of any angels, for the devil has no such beings. The brick walls were layered with the white flakes that, spoken in this way, sound as if it was heavy dandruff. Holes covered the wide area surrounded by barbed fences that were hardly enforced. If you want to run, run. Won't get too far, the prison guards could say. Run into a blizzard which would leave you to a horrible end when you find out that didn't kill you while some beast gnaws on your insides. The ground was hard from the cold, almost permafrost in a way. Guards were scattered all around the field, chuckling at the freezing prisoners as they fluffed their fur jackets and adjusted their warm caps. The prisoners were hidden in the wholes they were forced to dig the whole day, only stopping for mid-day meal and to sleep at five only to wake at five in the morning to work again. One could only see the shovels of the men as they throw aside soil and snow. Crudely made scarves wrap around many unshaven heads and scarred faces, warming whatever bit of human is left in there. The uniforms were covered by bright green jackets required by law to separate prisoners and guards. The jackets weren't needed, since anyone who stuck up their nose at a mouse was undoubtedly a worker.
Paradise was the most unlikely word for the place, Hell could be better, and the wrath of Hyne was the best. What had caused these men (and in some cases, women) to fall into the clutches of the law? Why, the victims themselves. Murder, drugs, and money could be a motive. Vengeance, selfishness, gluttony were more. Ah, to finish the rest of the seven deadly sins and to determine what pit of Hell did these poor, unfortunate souls land in? Theft, damage, and other 'petty crimes' as they say, would probably save you. Ridiculous, isn't it? Welcome to the Law of the North.
A hole that seemed to be the dead center of all the others paused, the being breathed for air only to have it cut his throat and lungs to shreds and force him to cover up his nose and mouth with the dirt covered scarf. The chill bit all the way to the bone and yet he wasn't dead. No one died in this prison, because this was beyond death, this was where you went. Or so it seemed. Examples, such a horrible thing. Especially when they convince many that death was no longer possible since they were dead to the outside world and that they now belong to the clutches of the devil, the guards are demons and their fellow inmates victims, just like you.
For heaven mercy and forgiveness existed, as the priests who visited behind protective bars always preached about, then maybe there could be a chance that they could get away, loved ones remembered them and didn't forget them out of shame, and that the Almighty Unnamed God existed and wanted so badly to bless the poor souls who worked till they broke. Such luxuries were often destroyed as they always saw the priest run from his position, thinking he was unseen by the condemned men and away from what he believed could actually be Hell. They would then know there was no point to go past, and now they were doomed.
A hand grabbed a handful of hair from the prisoner and looked into his eyes. Ocean blue eyes looked back, life gone and blank. The head was thrust back and a yell was emitted above the wind. The prisoner looked up but averted his eyes down quickly before the butt of a rifle could have contact with his head again.
"Right here, Sah!" The voice yelled again. "Shall I bring him inside?" The response wasn't heard but finalized as the victim's head was grabbed again and, if he hadn't pulled himself out, he might have just felt his first scalping.
"Come, you. Inspector want's a word and his word is final." The guard yelled in the ear of the man, as if he was deaf. The guard thrust the man forward and almost into the hole of another inmate but the prisoner regained balance and walked the dancing steps towards the main couple of buildings who looked more like box igloos than buildings.
Inside didn't seem any warmer, but probably a bit more comfortable. Tiles served as the floor and white, hospital like walls made the structure though the smell of sterilized urine and medicines were absent. Guards walked in full attire past them without so much as a glance as they hurried on their way, the maturity and businesslike of them seeming higher and higher as they came closer and closer to the office. Finally, they were met with a huge, oak door that held a name on a silver metal tray it seemed,
'Inspector Caraway'
"You should know the procedure. If at any time you are given a signal, then you will receive a warning. After your first, you will receive punishment after the meeting is over."
The prisoner nodded, knowing the punishment full well. Though it was not accepted by the People's Rights Movement or any other movement or group he didn't know about, the government took little focus on it. With the chilling wind the strapped the prisoners left arm and leg to one pole, right arm and leg to the other to stop movement. Back bare, whips would strike against it. He hadn't gotten his share of scars since any little crime he committed in the prison was never that bad, but anytime that happened, no matter what time it was, they were forced to watch the suffering victim. With theories he shared with only himself, it was obvious that embarrassing the guard that his prisoners showed disrespect to the seniority was a one way ticket to ten licks.
Entering the place, he saw that the man had a lot of pride and a ton of self-respect. Awards and degrees covered the walls, adding a slight decoration to the place. The brown and probably cold desk had a mat on it (to protect any hands from sticking to it, he thought) and was cluttered with papers. A wooden chair was put for any guests and for the owner of the place was an elegant and elaborate, purple cushioned chair. In the chair was an average aged man, probably a little older than him but white hair was already appearing, his eyes staring at an article before him as if his eyes were frozen from the outside chill and newly trimmed and shaven sideburns were along his face. His uniform wasn't slacked for comfort, but looking neat and tidy as if he had ironed it with himself wearing it so no wrinkles would form when he put the attire on. He was a fair looking man, but one that was better to look in awe at than to actually know.
"Beggin' your pardon-"
"There will NOT be any begging while I am here unless it is from the scum around here." The Inspectors cold voice said, interrupting the guard. "And my attention is on you, Private. Carry on."
It was obvious that it wasn't, his eyes still stuck to the paper. This was business, which made the prisoner relax a tad until he was directed ('forced' or 'push' may have been a more appropriate word) into the wooden chair.
"This is prisoner 24601. It's his time to go with the ride of 6754. He just needs his ticket, sah."
"I know what he needs, Private. Learn to just state the number of the prisoner and ride." The Inspector said irritably. The Private nodded and stood with legs at shoulder length apart and hands behind his back, his eyes looking straight ahead. 24601 sat straight up, not taking the chance to slouch but going over a new idea, his blue eyes looking slightly distant. He was going to be free. FREE. He wasn't going to be in this prison any longer, he was going to be a regular Joe, a FREE man. How long had he waited for this? 4 years? 6?
"10 years, 24601. Thievery, breaking and entering, escaping from jail two times. You may just be the sorry excuse for a criminal. Though I did hear it took a month to find you after the second time. Better be glad your sentence was as small as it is. The decision to make such crimes make you spend a longer time in jail passed after you were sent here, I see. Probably didn't want to waste money on sending you to court to extend it." The Inspector commented, after ripping his eyes from the article and finally looking at the 24601's report. He took a pen from inside the desk and scribbled down some things on a yellow slip and handed it to the prisoner. "You know what this means, 24-"
"It's Laguna. Laguna Loire. And I know what it means."
"Don't make me laugh, Loire. As you know, I am Inspector Caraway. And the fact that you think your free is the wrong theory. You are simply on probation. On the slip it shall tell you where to report to. Do NOT leave the district without proper transfer from your officer. The rest will be explained to you since I am too tied up to explain anymore. Maybe you will lead a law lead life this time."
Laguna seemed to look shocked, which brought a hidden smirk to Caraways face, but it was a face turning into realization and a sudden dislike for the man.
"My… My friend and niece were almost dead. I needed to find some way to clothe them, to feed them. I was running low on money. They needed food-"
"You broke the law, 24601. Breakers of the law deserve whatever the punishment is. I am sorry you have learned this just now."
Caraway handed the slip to the guard and nodded before Laguna could answer. "Take him out of my sight." The guard nodded and grabbed Laguna's jacket and almost dragged him out. "Lucky you have your slip. You would have just ad enough to kill you." The guard growled. He knew how lucky he was. He savored the fact of how lucky he was. Now, he was to view a new world, a world that would show itself to him. What riches and what a new life could he now lead?
It was clear that the bus hadn't been cleaned since it was bought, which would be since the prison opened, which would then be about seventy-five years. Dirt was piled on top of dirt, seeming that peat could make the floor and that it was just a moving mining tunnel. The seats were ripped and stank of urine and feces, obviously a final good-bye from veteran prisoners who wanted to tell the prison they lived in how much they loved the place. The other men who sat in the bus held their stuff with shivering arms and didn't speak, glad to be able to relax and be in some type of silence. Many took advantage of this and tried to sleep while the bus jumped here and there. It was a wonder that the bus still existed in this weather.
Laguna sat by the window in the far back, his small, tan pack that held his items slouching on his lap. It held what little and precious possessions he had left, and still it hardly seemed like it could carry anything other than itself. His hair was finally groomed and cut so that it reached his shoulders, his face clean shaven and his body washed. One thing they allowed for those who wanted it, though hardly any did since they wanted to get out as fast as they could.
It would be hours till they reached Esthar. It wouldn't matter, though. They had waited years for freedom. A couple more hours was nothing. The landscape blurred past them, with each passing second it changed, and soon it would look browner as if something had died than and Ice Age had happened.
Thoughts went through his head, of the past, present, and future. What had happened to the old town he had lived in, caught in, sent away from, and forgotten in? What happened to his old friends, enemies, and neutral men and women? What would happen now if the storm turned worse and they got stuck on the side of the road? What would happen if they needed to walk the rest? He survived the prison, could he survive the cold only a bit longer? What did Esthar look like? What would happen when he was free? No. Not free. When he was let go like a pigeon only to be called back to show that he didn't commit a murder.
((I do not own the idea of 'Les Miserables', it belongs to the author Victor Hugo. Final Fantasy and all that connects or belongs to it is not owned by me. I wish, but that would be quixotic. I hope the first chapter at least brought slight expectations of any type or was good in any way. Please send in your review if you happened to love it or hate it. Reviews may put whether I keep this idea and continue with it or just...throw it away for another great author and fan fiction creator to create...It would be interesting if there was an Aida one...oO))