One day

TW: death

He opened his eyes with effort, obliged to wake up by the light of the early morning, which, seeping from every window, drew stipes on the floor of the cell. 

He didn’t complain about it though, in fact, he thanked that at least the light was allowed to visit him so the concept of time wasn’t entirely lost in his routine. 

He sat up and, once again, looked at the marks on the wall, counting over them and wondering if he had forgotten to engrave a line the day before. It didn’t matter though, it would just mean one less scratch in his tombstone. It wasn’t as if he was counting down, because you can only do that if you know how much time is left, and he only knew how much had passed, well, now not even that. 

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She rolled over in bed, trying to make the repetitive tune that bothered her ears stop. 

“Why the hell is the alarm on?” she grumbled mentally. It wasn’t supposed to go off on weekends. She finally managed to grab the phone from the side table, and her eyes, squinted for the light of the screen, suddenly widened when they read the date. It was already Monday, she had completely lost track of time and was now sprinting to open the curtains and get in the bathroom. 

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He laid back down, waiting for the jailer to hit his baton with the bars and shout everyone to get out of their cells and into the refectory, where they ate the plain breakfast before being forced into the hall that led to the common showers.

He was pushed by many men as he walked, but he didn’t yell at them as he would have done in the past. It is good being among people after all, isn’t it? Being able to know that you are not alone and that there are others that share your distressing fate.

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She, already dressed, ran down the stairs to get herself a mug of hot coffee that contributed to waking her completely before exiting her house.

She walked down the street, checking her watch every now and then, and forcing consequently a rapid pace to get to the station just in time to take the subway.

She bumped with the people that shared her way, making herself a suffocating space between businessmen, students, and mothers. “Why don’t they get out of my way? can’t they understand that I have to get to work?” was the thought on her mind. 

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This was when the worst part of his day started, which was actually most of his day. He didn’t hate it for the forced labors or the disgusting food, but because through these hours, people, one by one, were taken to their deaths, and you had no way of knowing if it would be you, or of scaping this common fate. I guess it’s what the death penalty has. 

He watched a man not far from him be dragged away, and he shivered. It was an awful sight to see. Although, the truth be told, he sometimes wished he was just taken away too already because the real sentence of this place was not knowing how much it would last, not being able to count down to better times, and waking day after day wondering if it will be your last, or if you will have the poor luck of waking in fear one more day. 

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The subway she was in stopped abruptly, making people collide with each other and earn contempt glares. She scoffed and tightened her grasp on the cold bar that prevented her from falling before the murmurs on the car were subdued by the almost incoherent voice in the speakers informing that an incident with a civilian in the rails had taken place a kilometer from there and that it would keep them there from half to one hour. A collective groan followed the announcement. Now she’d get in trouble for being late to work as if an hour standing and surrounded by strangers wasn’t enough.

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He effortfully sunk the shovel on the ground before wiping once more the sweat on his forehead. That day it was his turn to work on the yard. He honestly preferred doing the laundry or working in the kitchen, he had the feeling it was more useful because digging the ground only helped him to be given a quick and more pleasant death.

He took a gander at the men working beside him, of whom all have probably made really bad decisions, not differently from him. He only had time to wonder how many of them regretted those decisions before he was yelled back to work.  

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She sighed, sitting at her usual desk after having been scolded by her boss for being late, why couldn’t that bastard understand she had had the worst morning ever? 

She dropped her handbag next to her chair and brought her hands to the keyboard, scoffing at how annoying the man next to her was when talking on the phone. 

She didn’t feel like getting to work that day, her work wasn’t one she really liked, but she had to get to it, she couldn’t afford her boss getting mad at her twice the same day.

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He left his rusty shovel on the pile where many more rested, ready to go back to his lonely cell, for the sun was already setting, but he wouldn’t land his gaze on the one that had been his room for all those months again.

Two guards approached him, serious and professional, and something in him he couldn’t control didn’t allow him to make a guess of the situation until the two men told him. It was finally happening. Would he resist? Would he just accept it? He had never got to make that decision. He would have made it at the moment if his mind hadn’t become blank as the policemen dragged him away from the last lights of the day.

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She got up from her seat, picking up her things and tiredly exiting the building, she had had to stay later to finish her work for arriving late so she now couldn’t even take the subway back to her apartment. Instead, she got on the first taxi that stopped. A young man sat on the driver’s seat, although I can’t tell you anything else about him for she didn’t bother asking any questions and just gave him her address, even if that dark round face would be the last one she would see.

Three minutes, of the twenty it was supposed to, took the taxi to arrive at its destination. A sharp twirl. The loud sound of a car’s horn. A blinding light. An awful shriek. And then just a painful perpetual darkness.