Chapter 1: Look Down
The sky was dark with storm clouds and the early winter air was brisk and chilly, reflecting the moods of the prisoners of one of the most terrible in all of France. The food was terrible, tasteless and often bitter gruel. The conditions were even less pleasant, with filth and cold and stone. There were many a male there of different ages, colors and sizes, but they all wore the same filthy grey prison uniforms complete with their prisoner number stitched on it.
None of the jailers addressed the prisoners by their real names, only those numbers were their identities there. They forced the prisoners to complete tedious and often hazardous labors every day. No matter the conditions of the weather—spring, summer, winter or fall, or even sunny, hot, cold, or rainy—every male did their share of work by breaking down and carrying enormous rocks, and pulling hard on rope to bring in ships from the sea for repair.
They were to speak only when spoken to, they were to wake up, work, sleep and eat when told, and keep their shackles on until told otherwise. Those who failed to obey were punished in terrible ways, whether it was through a beating or more years added to their sentence. Sadly, for some, their sentenced years meant nothing as not everyone survived long enough to taste freedom after serving in that jail for a time.
But despite it all, friendships were formed between the prisoners and they were able to communicate in ways that often escaped their jailers' notice. As they finished the day's labor, they began to talk among themselves, reminding each other of one of the biggest rules of the prison and other things.
Prisoners
Look down, look down
Don't look 'em in the eye
Look down, look down,
You're here until you die
Prisoner #1
The sun is strong
It's hot as perdition below!
When one worked in the sun long enough, even the little heat of a winter's day felt like that of a blistering summer's, especially during when they were working hard as they were. Not to mention, most of the heat they felt came from illnesses or infected wounds they'd obtained from all the work.
Prisoners
Look down, look down,
There's twenty years to go
Prisoner #2
I've done no wrong!
Sweet heaven, hear my prayer!
Prisoners
Look down look down,
Sweet heaven doesn't care
Prisoner #3
I know she'll wait,
I know that she'll be true!
Prisoners
Look down, look down,
They've all forgotten you
Prisoner #4
When I get free, ya won't see me
Here for dust!
Prisoners
Look down, look down
Don't look 'em in the eye!
Prisoner #5
How long, sweet angels,
Before you let me die?
Many a prisoner had a tragic tale, few had hope for freedom and even more longed to die. Sadly, death was often considered an act of mercy to many of the prisoners who'd been there longer than others. And no one could actually blame them, considering the life they'd been forced to lead, whether they were actually guilty or no. If the law found the slightest thing wrong, a person was jailed and sentenced to years of hard labor, and that was the end of that argument.
Prisoners
Look down, look down,
You'll always be a slave
Look down, look down,
You're standing in your grave
"Everyone, quiet. Roderich Edelstein is coming!" whispered a voice, during one particularly hard day's labor.
All fell silent as he came into view.
Roderich Edelstein, a guard of the prison, was a man who had no tolerance for law-breakers and even less for those who broke the moral laws set down by the church. He claimed to have strict moral principles he never forsook, and was cold with a heart of stone and saw who'd done wrong as the devil's spawn. Some believed he looked for the tiniest of reasons to lock someone up in prison. He was feared, hated and respected, depending on who was talking about him, beneath him or working with him. Though, in the prisoners' case, it was just fear and hatred.
His cold dark blue eyes fell upon the prisoners who were just finishing the day's work. Everyone was sore and tired and moving slowly back into their cells for their evening meal of cold gruel and bitter water.
"Now bring me Prisoner 24601!" he ordered.
A weary prisoner slowly approached Roderich with an unreadable look on his face. His name was Berwald Oxenstierna, and he was man who'd known a great deal of undeserved pain and suffering. He was rather tall with barely fading blond hair and a beard like a rat's nest, his prison uniform was torn and covered in filthy muck, blood and soaked with sea-water, there was a prison number tattooed on his chest and his wrists were scarred from the chains he wore. He walked with a limp as his left leg had been damaged when he'd served in a battle during his youth.
"Yes, sir?" he asked, keeping his eyes down.
"Come with me. Your time is up and your parole's begun. You know what that means!" said Roderich, as he unlocked Berwald's shackles and led him through the prison.
Berwald's heart leapt with both disbelief and relief as he slowly limped along with the help of his walking cane. I didn't think I'd live to see this day. How did this happen to me? "Yes, it means I'm free." He'd been ready for this day for so long now.
"No," said Roderich, sharply. "It means you get your yellow ticket of leave. You are a thief!"
Anger immediately flared up in the pit of Berwald's stomach. "I stole a loaf of bread!"
"You robbed a house!" snarled Roderich.
"I broke a window pane!" argued Berwald. Grief and sorrow crossed his face. "My little boy was close to death and we were starving—!"
"You'll starve again unless you learn the meaning of the law!" interrupted Roderich, growling.
"I know the meaning of those twenty years a slave of the law," snarled Berwald.
Berwald's beloved wife/husband, Tino, a man of great beauty and a heart as pure as gold, had died a year after their son, Peter, was born. He'd raised and cared for Peter as best he could with love and the money he made from spinning and tailoring, but they fell upon hard times when the boy was three. It had been a harsh winter and Berwald became desperate to save his little boy. He stole a small loaf of bread and gave it to his son, but Peter hadn't lasted long after eating the food and Berwald had been arrested soon after.
"You were sentenced to five years for what you did," said Roderich, coldly. "The other fifteen years were because you tried to run! Yes, 24601—"
"My name is Berwald Oxenstierna!" he interrupted, angrily. Had he not been mocked and belittled long enough? Could Roderich Edelstein really be so self-righteous and arrogant that he couldn't even address Berwald by his own name instead of his prisoner number?
"And I'm Roderich Edelstein!" said Roderich, sharply. "Do not forget my name! Do not forget me, 24601!"
Chaos dose not own Hetalia or Les Miserables. Please leave a review!