Warden

He sat alone. He sat alone and he looked out onto the lake. The boy was sat on the edge of the pier, holding tightly to his knees and refusing to let go - lest he be struck by the biting cold. Despite the hoodie he wore and how he had tugged the hood over his ragged brown hair, he was still victim to the icy winds. He was told Hell was hot, and at this moment, he begged for the scorching heat of Hellfire to drive out and curse out this bitter sting of nature.

The water was almost still when something came for the second time today to disrupt its settling. The boy watched the barge drive into the cove - past the horizon of which the sun could be seen dipping beneath. The boy was eagerly awaiting its arrival. The mountains nearby were familiar to him, and this land was all he had ever known, but he desperately wished to leave it behind.

The ten wooden pillars that supported the dock (and creaked with any movement they were host to) had begun to rot and weather in the harsh environment. He sat on them, though, with full trust that they would stand tall for another decade at least. While waiting for the boat to come to shore, the boy pondered his day. He thought of what had occurred and felt a sense of deja vu as he awaited the boat’s arrival. He shivered slightly, although whether this was caused by the devastating cold or the events that had just happened, he did not know.

The boat arrived early that morning, and the boy was still able to cling to the warmth that he felt from the sun that had recently been masked behind the cloudy sky. It came to a slow eventual halt at the pier; the pier that could hardly support the weight of the large man who stepped off it. The man then immediately handed his luggage to the boy. The boy took the weight of his suitcase and admired it, he found himself particularly interested in the luggage. 

“Good morning, sir.” The young boy smiled warmly, trying to make the experience pleasurable for the large, rather fat, man. Over his years of working in this business, helping people leave their old lives behind, he had found a bedside manner did a world of good. The boy set off towards the sand, leading the old man as the boat left. The seagulls began their cacophony as the man set off after the boy, stomping his feet in the sand, creating a large thud with each step.

The boy walked in silence. While he knew a bedside manner helped, he wasn’t one to use it. In his years working here, he had come to appreciate the silence - finding the lack of needless conversation comforting. The silence, to him, was a blanket. A blanket that swallowed him whole, protecting him from the outside world. The Major (for that was how the young boy was to address the man) tried both relentlessly yet also effortlessly to start a conversation but to no avail. The Major was not the sort of man to try to foster a relationship - nor any other manor of positive thing - but instead make futile attempts, relaxing in the facade that he had done all that he could’ve. This was not true.

At the edge of the shore, where the sand begun to blend with the grass before being slowly filtered out, was a small cottage.

“Warden?” The Major asked, demanding a response from the boy this time.

“Yes?” The boy responded: evidence that if it was necessary or if the requisition was done with polite mannerism, he would indeed answer the Major.

“Will I really be safe?” The question hung in the air like a damp fog. When encased in this hostile, dangerous miasma, Warden wanted nothing more than to cocoon himself in silence. Warden wanted nothing more than to cocoon himself in the safety and sanctity of his own home. Warden wanted nothing more than to leave, to end it all, and never return. Warden wanted nothing more than death… 

Losing his ability to look the Major in the eye, Warden nodded, looking guiltily downwards. Warden’s sole nod - the nod that was to fill the gap caused by his sudden striking of aposiopesis - did not fill the Major with confidence, but the solitudinous nature of the isle and the cottage was evidence enough that he was telling the truth.

The mechanism made a large click as Warden unlocked the door.

“Thank you.” The Major smiled, gripping Warden’s hands as he shed a single tear. The Major was not a likeable man, but a part of Warden turned to him when he was shown this raw gratitude. The Major smiled. “Thank you for granting me Asylum.”

Warden sat at the docks, watching the ferry return, quite probably with another warm body for Warden to help. Warden once again stood up but this time to confront the captain.

“Ferryman.” He shouted up.

“Yes…” He groaned, tossing a gun down to the boy. “You helped me… Helped these souls leave their lives behind. I will ferry you to Death, now, boy.” The Ferryman muttered, watching Warden grip the trigger.

“Kierkegaard once said ‘A leap of faith - yes - but only after reflection.’ I have reflected, Ferryman. I have faith that death is salvation… So I leap from this mortal prison.” Warden shivered as he took a step onto the ferry, shedding his body and leaving the world of the living behind. Now, he knew why he shivered, for he walked over his own grave. Warden sat in silence on the boat, his mind still not free of his mortal thoughts, the very thoughts that bound him to torment and drove him to suicide. He had one question, one that would not leave his mind as he drifted further and further down the lake from what would soon be his cenotaph. One question that enveloped him and tied him up, choking him with the stagnant air as he pondered this question. This one question that brought so much dread and worry and fear and despair. Did he make the right decision?