A/N:
Non-magical AU
This jungle is the product of my own whimsical, not the faithful rendition of one found in our world :D
Sirius's fate as a criminal does not portray author's political, philosophical, or moral convictions regarding convicted criminals. It is merely a ploy for the purposes of fiction-telling :)
Rated T+ for some foul language.
:A/N
They led him to the edge of the forest. Jungle, really.
They had been traveling for a week, just him, his two guides—lifers as well, but with the possibility of parole—and a horse and buggy. Primitive accommodations, but his captors assured him it was luxury compared to where he was headed.
It had been a month since he'd heard his verdict delivered, though there had never been any doubt as to what it would be. Guilty. Life without the possibility of parole. The kiss of death: banishment from civilized society to the Kingdom of Isolation.
It was society's solution to the international abolition of the death penalty. Dump all the most despicable criminals in the most inhospitable, isolated regions of the world and let them fend for themselves. It might not be any more humane than the method used before, but it saved millions of taxpayers' hard-earned money.
It had been three weeks, then, since he'd been branded: an ugly, jagged, disgusting capital-letter "D," marking him for the damned, lest he think he could escape his fate.
And only eight days since he'd had his last meal and his last shower.
The next day, he'd been handcuffed and forced to walk to his own doom.
Sirius had considered, ever so briefly, of attempting to overpower his captors: stealing the keys to his cuffs and the rifles that had been assigned to the two men guarding him. Although, he hadn't thought of what he would do after that because he had quickly dismissed the idea.
It wasn't that he thought it an impossible task, it was just that he had been feeling so tired lately. What was the point? Escape for what? His best friends were dead, and he had no family who would welcome him back or that he would want to go back to. Harry was alive, but what could he do with Harry? He could hardly kidnap the infant and condemn him to grow up on the run with a convicted, branded criminal.
No, Sirius had accepted his fate the moment he took off after Peter for revenge. He didn't regret it, either. Recalling Peter's pathetic sobs and vain pleas for mercy would sustain Sirius, no matter what hell awaited him. Sirius regretted nothing except that he hadn't made Peter's death slower and more painful. Peter had deserved it all for what he'd done: he'd not only betrayed his dearest friends, but the Order and all honest citizens fighting for a just world.
With Peter's death, Sirius had also killed the only person who knew of his own innocence, but that hardly mattered. Sirius didn't care about his own innocence. He cared only that the proper justice had been administered: Peter had not deserved to live out his life, no matter the abysmal conditions. He'd feared death above all else, so it was death he'd deserved. Sirius had made sure Peter knew he was about to die.
The memories of Peter crying and begging echoed through his mind and soothed him better than any childhood lullaby.
But then they led him to the edge of the jungle and Sirius's confidence shattered.
"We go no further," the captor named Yaxley said. He had his rifle aimed unwaveringly at Sirius's chest as the other captor marched forward and unlocked the handcuffs.
"What?" It was not so much a query for Yaxley to repeat himself as it was a cry of indignation.
"The cart won't make it through these parts, and the bats will spook the horse."
"Leave the goddamn horse here, then!" Dread was beginning to pool in Sirius's gut. This had to be a bad joke.
"Can't risk any wild animals getting to him," Yaxley replied evenly. "He isn't mine, you know."
"You're supposed to take me to the village." Sirius gestured wildly around him. "There's nothing fucking here!"
Yaxley stared back impassively, the words—not my problem—so obvious he didn't deign to speak them.
The raw skin around Sirius's branded cheek stretched painfully as he smiled viciously at Yaxley. "What am I supposed to do, then?"
"Well, we're going to be staying right here, and you'll be going that way." Yaxley thrust his gun forward, indicating the jungle behind Sirius.
"And if you come back here, we'll shoot you," added Yaxley's companion, who had never told Sirius his name. He spoke with the careful, slow drawl of someone for whom thinking took a great deal of effort. Fortunately, he did not speak much at all. They made a good pair, for Yaxley was very lean and his companion was a heavyset brute.
Yaxley glared at his companion, before saying to Sirius, "We've been told that you are to keep walking straight ahead. Hopefully, they'll find you before the jaguars do." Yaxley grinned at him.
"You've got to be shitting me."
Yaxley settled the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, the barrel aimed at Sirius, and the other captor mirrored his gesture with his own rifle.
"Go," Yaxley ordered
Sirius eyed them warily, gauging his options. No doubt they'd shoot him if he stayed, but not fatally—that would be too merciful—and then the brute would carry him into the jungle, leaving him wounded and stranded. Then Sirius would really be screwed.
So, he set off into the thick vegetation, his mind whirling away. The two men couldn't keep an eye on the entirety of the jungle's edge. All he had to do was walk out of Yaxley's sight, then walk parallel to the border just far enough so that when he doubled back, Yaxley wouldn't see him exiting the jungle.
It was a plan that would have to do. In fact, the plan buoyed Sirius's spirits: it was absolutely brilliant.
He plowed through the trees, bushes, and vines with single-minded determination. He cut a hard left when he thought he had gone far enough, and then left again, certain that he was now walking back the way he came. He was so certain about his brilliant plan that he did not pause to take into consideration his surroundings. He didn't realize that the vegetation was growing thicker, and he definitely didn't see the ledge on the other side of which was murky brown water.
Then, he was falling.
Sirius heard himself splash into the water a millisecond before his other senses came in; then, he felt the warm water seep through his denim shorts and the hem of his cotton shirt. He spluttered angrily while the rest of his brain struggled to catch up to the situation.
He was in a jungle, completely alone—abandoned! —and now he was waist-high in swamp water. His life really couldn't get any more wonderful.
Damn it all, Sirius thought as he glanced around, feeling the anger and disgust at the entire situation build up to a nearly untenable crescendo. Slimy green algae now coated his arms and legs; there was water in his shoes; there were probably even piranhas in the water; and that log floating his way was probably crawling with parasites.
Wait.
A second.
Oh, shit.
Sirius scrambled up the bank to dry land as the log-which was definitely not a log- reared up out of the water. Sirius's vision flashed with an elongated snout filled with razor-sharp teeth opening and snapping shut. He jumped to his feet and bolted away. He felt the woosh of air on his backside as the alligator missed him by a hair's breadth.
Sirius did not turn around or wait to see what the beast would do next. His feet felt the firmness of the solid ground, and he did not hesitate. He tore through low-hanging branches and jumped over protruding tree roots.
He didn't care where he was going-there was nowhere to go. It was all a cruel joke. All the pomp and ceremony—the trial, branding him, his last meal, a week of travel by foot and goddamn horse and buggy—for nothing. To die of starvation, or worse, in a godforsaken jungle.
Or where ever the fuck he was.
Sirius ran until his lungs were burning and his face was so hot it felt like it would burst from the pressure. He stopped dead from a full sprint and collapsed against a tree.
Why had they not just blown his brains out when they'd been out of sight of civilization and left his body for the wild animals to feast on? He'd have preferred that to this fate.
His entire body vibrated at the injustice of his situation. He'd been duped, and the thought of dying so miserably in this hot and humid hellhole galled him. Peter should be the one facing his death here, not Sirius. Peter should be the one whose body rotted away under the dark green canopy.
If only he'd known!
This would have been the perfect demise for Peter: the slow-crawling death he would be powerless to stop; the constant terror of every rustling of the bush, certain a predator was lurking there waiting for him; the oppressive, humid heat, so incompatible with Peter's body, what with all that natural insolation he had; the thousands of snakes that must be crawling around, unbeknownst to unsuspecting Peter; the–
Sirius's blood ran cold, and he immediately flung himself off the tree trunk.
Snakes! He hadn't even thought of the snakes. They had to be everywhere in this lush environment.
He detested snakes!
A mosquito buzzed in his ear, and Sirius slapped himself to kill it.
The mosquito buzzed again, and another stung him on the neck at the same time.
Sirius's sanity snapped.
Yelling and cursing at the top of his lungs, not caring what wild beasts he drew to him, Sirius began to destroy whatever he could get his hands on: he ripped shrubs out of the ground, he threw rocks at trees, he tore leaves from branches, and he kicked at the ground.
He spun around, almost wishing he'd see some large carnivore beast waiting for him to end his misery.
What he saw instead was a man, squatting amongst the bushes, staring stolidly at him.
"What the fu–" Sirius stumbled back, watching in total disbelief as the man slowly stood.
He was dressed sparsely, and the clothes he had on were loose and dirty and did not cover much of his person. Sirius could tell he was lean—gaunt, really—but very muscular. Not an ounce of fat. He held a long spear in his hand and had a bow and arrows strapped to his back.
He had a "D" branded on his cheek.
"Are you done?" the man asked Sirius.
Sirius's heart had not yet slowed down, and his body was still reverberating with energy from his rage adrenaline. Even so, he managed to give a jerky nod. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the man's cheek. His brand looked scarred, like it had healed a long time ago.
"You're alive," Sirius stated, dumbly.
The man smirked at that. "Yes. And so are you. Whether that is a fortunate thing or not will be for you to grapple with for the rest of your miserable life."
Despite the man's words, Sirius felt weak from relief. Surprisingly, tears tickled the outer edges of his eyes, and he laughed in wonder.
The man seemed slightly shocked at Sirius's reaction. "Do not look too happy, boy. Your life as you know it is dead. You may never feel any happiness again. Many kill themselves to escape this hell, and maybe you will, too, before long."
But Sirius couldn't stop laughing, and so he only shook his head. This man wouldn't understand. It wasn't about where he was going. All that mattered was that he was going.
He wasn't about to die. Which meant he'd won. Harry was alive; Peter was dead; Voldemort was dead. Sirius didn't care about anything else, so long as he lived long enough to savor those three facts.
"Shut up," the man hissed, looking like he was about to punch Sirius, which was what made him finally stop laughing. Unfortunately, he was powerless to hide his wide, toothy grin.
The man shook his head. "You're already insane, huh? Oh, well. We have to make it back to camp before nightfall. Come with me."
"Lead the way, then," he told the man without hesitation.
And the man did.
Word (without a/n): Count: 2,052 (google docs)
Quidditch League Competition Round 5: (Phantom Zone/ Prison Dimension) Write about a place where the worst criminals are imprisoned. Eg: Azkaban or The Raft (where the Marvel's most wanted criminals are imprisoned.)