Sunday, October 14, 2012

The Plan

Adjectives out of order
Transitive verb (past,present)

Because my meeting with the warden is fast approaching, I could only dream about one thing: freedom. The warden, gritty and steely-eyed, does not let her prisoners out easily. You can merely sit in your chair, scared and tense, and pray that she sees the light inside your black hole of a soul. Not many people see this light, but I know she has seen a change in me since G arrived.

As I returned to my cell, I knew G would be waiting for me. I could see his shadow, long and burly, as I slowly creeped up to our cell door. His eyes, wide and blinding, glared down at me as if I was in some kind of trouble. He wanted to know why I hadn't been studying with him the last few weeks. I explained that my review was coming up and I had a lot on my mind. G was not pleased, but there was nothing I could do to make him happy. So I washed my face, and went to bed. I lie in bed, wondering what tomorrow will bring--if anything.

Three days went by before we finally talked again. And I knew there was only one person who could prepare me to get out of this hell--G. Though we did not know where to start first, we had to have a plan. Should I show her all of my writings from the last six weeks, or beg for my pathetic life? I figured she would enjoy watching me suffer, but G and I worked too hard for this to end so guttlesly.

I waited outside the wardens office, knowing the fate of my life rested in the hands of a corrupt system. The door so loud, deafening my ears with every swing, slowly creeped open. As the warden approached me, I could see my life flash before my eyes. Mind racing, heart booming, I gazed out the nearby window one last time. I approached the lone chair in front of the panel of prison officials--their eyes evaluating my every move--and nervously sat down.

After each question, I took one deep breath and said a silent prayer. The warden praised me for attempting to help the other inmates with their grammar in the previous weeks; though, she was not fully convinced I was doing it all out of good will. What was my real plan, she asked. I answered the question, and took a deep breath.The warden looked to her colleagues, and then stared back at me.  She was not satisfied.

After that, I knew there was no hope for me. It became a game to her, as if I was a puzzle she was trying to solve--quickly. Though she did not know, I was also playing a game. The warden knew I would slip up, but so did G. He said that all I had to do to make him happy again was to follow one last lesson: the plan.

1 comment:

  1. another lively piece, Stu, though you've really got your labels crossed up. Of course, labeling them correctly isn't as important as the hoped-for end result: lively writing.

    A cliffhanger, huh? I can't wait to find out what the plan is... next week!