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Text and original characters copyright 2022 by Teresa Strati
The Prisoner
He stood watching the night routine – it was now such a finely tuned machine.
Were the rumours true? Or is it just talk among the frightened.
If so, how can someone make something like this up? How can anyone think of such a thing.
He paced.
He drank the already cold coffee.
He paced again – agitation a companion for many nights – many years.
A low, respectful knock on the door.
And a silent visitor passing on a much anticipated message.
He read it.
He didn't understand it.
How can they not believe it.
"Send it again."
The visitor nodded acknowledgment and left.
Foreboding darkness fell into his room. He didn't want to turn on the light.
What if the rumours were true?
What has become of humanity?
He stood at the open window and peered out – another changing of the guards.
What if it was all true?
More than that – what could they do?
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