Chapter 7: In Isolation
On the ship
In the prison cell, Pocahontas laid down on her stomach upon the shawl that John snuck in for her. It served as the only warmth and comfort against the coldness seeping in the air above her. She almost couldn't believe what those guards did to her after John was discovered and thrown off the ship. The moment he was gone, she was dragged out of the cell forcefully and ordered to lay flat across the wooden floor. Ratcliffe was angered with hearing this and wanted to test how the savage would react to at least ten lashes from the sting of a whip. Pocahontas would have made a run for it, but other guards blocked the opening and she might as well be caught in their grasp. Since it was impossible for her back to be exposed because of her dress having no lace, her hair could only be moved aside. Each lash stung terribly, but instead of crying out in pain, she had shut her eyes tight and tightened her fists. If she ever did holler, then that would give these men great pleasure in what they were doing to their prisoner. When it was over, she had been thrown back in the cell like a throw rug and had both her wrists chained up to the pole with a long chain.
Pocahontas did not fear the whippings, nor would she ever give in to the burning sensation of each lash if they dared do it again. She felt that doing so would break her spirit inside. It was the feeling of loss, loneliness, and a mockery in London that deeply troubled her heart. Already Pocahontas could imagine herself lying in isolation in another dark cell at the tower that she would be escorted to soon after her trial. Now she knew how every prisoner felt behind bars whether they were innocent or guilty of a crime that was committed. Were all kinds of prisoners treated this way? And if so, how can the rulers of one country notice this, yet don't bother with handling it? Countries can't allow that kind of brutality, or can they? Perhaps so, as long as that society was corrupted by money and power.
With no one to tend to her cuts, the cold air blew down on her back like water from a bucket. The whip had apparently cut through her blouse as she was lashed out. Pocahontas was more worried for John, her father, Nakoma, Thomas, and everyone else than she was about the cuts. She might have injuries, but she vowed that she'd never let her spirit be broken by a whip. If she were to die in this cold cell, then she'd have to keep her spirit strong from everything she learned in this life for both the good and the bad times.
Tears rolled down her face as Pocahontas was having trouble trying to keep her eyes open. After everything that happened, sleep was impossible for her in a place like this. She missed everyone she loved. Her friends were too kind and caring to ever forget about her, especially John. He told her that he already had a plan with how to save her and stop Ratcliffe from reclaiming Jamestown, but he was discovered before he had a chance to explain everything.
"John, I hope you don't die in my place," Pocahontas choked back a sob. "You came back for me once, please don't leave me again."
Wrapping the shawl around her shoulders, Pocahontas wept as she remembered all the good times she had from childhood to adulthood. She would never forget her friends either, not even for a moment too soon.
Author's note: Yep, a quick update. I know it isn't as long as the other ones, but this is what came up when I thought about what should happen afterward. I'll still see if I can update as soon as possible, despite being busy with an animation project.