Troubled Times

Hector woke suddenly. Something wasn’t right. He glanced over at the clock, it’s glow-in-the-dark face making him squint as he read the time. 2:47AM. He listened for a moment, wondering what could have woken him so suddenly. Hearing nothing, he rolled over and hoped he would be able to sleep for a few more hours before the grueling day began. 

After sleeping a few more restless hours, Hector rose from his bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. He let his hand run along the wall, feeling for the familiar grooves. He stopped at the entrance to the bathroom as his fingertips hadn’t registered anything besides the smooth wall. 

How can this be? Hector thought to himself. He went to turn on the light, and gasped when he turned to face the wall. Nothing. Not a scratch, not an inkling of anything. In shock, Hector sank down onto the bed and took a deep breath. He glanced at the clock, registering the time. 7:08AM. 22 minutes. The amount of time he had to figure this out. The sunlight was streaming through the window, deeply contrasting the darkness welling up inside Hector. He reminded himself that getting upset would not help anything and would probably make things worse. He thought back to yesterday, trying to remember exactly what the wall looked like. 

It was to no avail. He could only remember his last count, which was 8,285. But that was probably months ago. He was going to do the new count today. It would’ve probably taken him late into tomorrow. But now he had nothing to count, no way of knowing what day it was. He ran a hand through his straight brown hair, trying to comprehend the depth of what this meant.

He, Hector Molinez, had lost track of time.

He cursed himself for buying a clock that only kept track of the hours of the day, not the days themselves. It would have made everything better. But now he was trapped in a ten by ten room, with no way of knowing what day it was. 

The weight of this situation pressed heavily upon Hector. 

To most people, keeping track of time by making marks on a wall might seem like a fun game, but to Hector, it was what kept him going. It was what got him up in the morning. He was serving a 25-year sentence for a crime he had committed. Or rather, a crime that had happened upon him, not by his own choosing. But that made it no less heinous. 

He was sentenced to a work camp. He worked ten hour days, 5 days a week. There were no other clocks besides his own glow-in-the-dark model, and no other form of keeping time. No calendars, no watches, nothing. He had been keeping track on his wall, knowing that counting down was the only thing that would keep him sane. He wouldn’t go crazy. Not again. He couldn’t afford that. 

Since today was one of his days off, he had nothing to do besides wait for mealtime. He would have to wonder what day it was, and how many days he might possibly have left. Sweat began to pool on his brow. It can’t already be happening. Hector looked around quickly as he used his sleeve to wipe his forehead. 

His clock blinked to 7:30AM just as the guard knocked on his door. The knock wasn’t a question, but a statement of entry. The tall young man opened the door a crack and stooped to place the plate of food on the floor. He glanced up at the wall, then at Hector, and a confused look crossed his face. He quickly composed himself, cleared his throat, and announced, “Your breakfast!” Hector nodded as the guard stepped back into the hall and shut the door. 

Hector ate the food as fast as he could. Before the rats smelled it. Then he sat back against the smooth wall, wondering how he was going to survive this day. The sweat had already covered his forehead again, and was only spreading across his body. He started to shiver as he remembered...

It had been an ordinary day in the life of a young college junior. Hector was the first in his family to ever make it past 8th grade, and he was well on his way to graduating college. He strolled into the science lab and sat at his usual table. Today, they would be playing with fire. In a controlled manner, of course. At least, that was what the professor had planned. Hector and his friend Jacob were partners today. Hector had to reach up on the shelf to grab some necessary ingredients for their experiment. He grabbed some Cyclohexane and, as he was turning around, pretended to lose his balance.

Jacob reached out to steady him and in the process spilled some of the Cyclohexane on his shirt. He then reached over to turn on the Bunsen burner, not thinking how very flammable he himself had just become. His sleeve caught on fire, and it quickly spread across his body. Hector froze, not knowing what to do. The professor hurriedly found the fire distinguisher and put the fire out. But Jacob had been severely burned and would never fully recover. 

Jacob had to drop out of school because of the length of his stay in the hospital. Hector, greatly affected by the accident, lost all motivation and failed his classes that semester. On the last day of finals, he was sitting on a bench outside the main hall. He was angry. He had come too far to fail now. He hated to think of what his family would say. He began to sweat even though it was not at all hot outside. His body started to shake as he stood. He had to do something to remedy this, to get rid of his problem. Maybe if he got rid of his records for this semester, he could still continue with his education. He stumbled to the science lab, getting worried looks from the students he passed in the hallway. Once he arrived, he groped around blindly for something to burn. He decided it would be best to start all the Bunsen burners and put out a bunch of flammable liquids and materials to help the blaze spread. 

He, Hector Molinez, burned down an entire college. And would live to regret it. 

Lurching back to the present, Hector wiped a stray tear from his cheek. He still didn’t know what had come over him that day when he burned down the school, but he didn’t want it to come back. He knew he needed to work today or he would drive himself mad by the end of the day trying to figure out what happened to his tally marks. He called for the guard, and asked if he could join the workforce today. The guard looked surprised, but opened the door and led him out toward the courtyard. 

Hector noticed there were a lot more cells between his and the courtyard than he remembered. Then he gasped. And started laughing. The guard stopped, confusion spilling over his features. Hector just pointed and continued laughing. Inside the cell next to them, there was a wall covered in tally marks. Hector had somehow switched rooms in the night. He asked the guard why this would be, and the guard said they did that from time to time to keep prisoners from getting too comfortable. Why they would do this to Hector, who had only one year left of his sentence, he had no idea. 

One year? Hector breathed a sigh of relief before the guard realized his mistake. Hector also realized that he hadn’t counted his tally marks in over a year. Shaking the guards’ hand, Hector said he would actually still like his day off and hurried back to his new quarters to make some markings on his wall.