Sweep
by Gabs
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I'm not pretending they are, etc. etc. Consider me disclaimed.
I watch as she roughly sweeps the floor of the hallway. It almost seems to hold some deeper meaning, something far more intricate than a simple chore that must be done. Her toned arms move back and forth in a very graceful motion, surprisingly elegant, considering the circumstances. Her luscious brown hair swings as she pointedly ignores my stare. I know she knows I'm watching; she's too good not to notice someone blatantly watching her every move. But I suppose she's accustomed to it.
As she angrily pushes at a spot of mud that refuses to release its hold on the dull hardwood floor, I wonder about her. What's in her past that caused her to end up here? I've seen her before: sweeping, running, watching other people. But no one around here wants to tell me anything about her. The only thing anyone will say is to watch my neck when she's around. That doesn't mean much to me. I'm always watching my back anyway. You can't trust anyone, why would she be any different to me?
But somehow, she is. Something in her eyes, on the rare occasion she'll allow someone to look into them, makes me want to know. There's so much there, it's overwhelming. But it doesn't tell me why she's here. Did she kill someone? I'm sure she did; just about everyone here has, at some point or another. Maybe she went against her assignment, whatever that may have been. There are probably a million things in her past, but not many of them would have caused her to end up here. This is where the worst of them come. The most deadly. The ones who probably will never leave. And her? I don't know. I have no idea what will happen to her, what has happened to her. I know nothing. And that's the way they like it.
I'm slipping. I was so caught up in my thoughts about her past and her future that I didn't even notice her set the broom down and come stand in front of me. I'm so startled, I don't even think to reach for my gun and order her to stand down. Not that I think she'd actually listen. She's staring at me, her dark eyes drilling a hole into mine. I want to look away, to save myself, but I can't. She's too mesmerizing. Then, she speaks.
"You're just like all the others."
Evidently, that's all she intends to say, as she moves to grab the broom and leave. But it's not enough. I want to hear more.
"What do you mean? I don't think I'm anything like the others." She smirks.
"Of course you don't. No one ever does. But you are. They all stand there, find the most interesting prisoner they can, and watch them. Just watch them. They make it their hobby, their obsession. And I am yours. Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't realize the same guard was always where I was? No, you're not different. You're just like all the others." Having said her peace, she takes her leave. I know what's going to happen next. It's the same thing that happens every day. She'll be taken down to a lab, and they'll interrogate her for a few hours before tossing her into a room to sleep. And in the morning, there will be a mess somewhere that they insist she either clean up, or be beaten. And then they'll interrogate her again. It never changes.
"You're no different."
Her words ring true in my mind. Of course I'm not different. I walk around, proudly displaying my gun and badge, thinking myself far superior to any of these prisoners. I'm not at all different from anyone else at this prison.
But Irina Derevko is. And I know she's going to prove it.
Yeah, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me either. Just an idea that kinda forced it's way into my head, and then threatened to pull out all my teeth and all my blue hair if I didn't write it. So here it is.