bitter water // dreamnotfound

twenty one

at this point, it had been determined that george no longer required cell surveillance.

His awkward nature and inability to successfully stand up for himself made it clear that the warden, who still remained unnamed to George, didn't need to misuse his time, eyes fixed to an incapable prisoner who would fail trying to escape with nobody even watching. It was laughable. Everyone who came across George instantly knew he would cower at any sudden danger. George knew this. He blamed his mother.

The worry-stricken boy sat stiffly in his bland cell, still trembling away to nothing but bones. Despite him being as obediently compliant as he could in an effort to receive some sort of reward, he still was not offered a blanket. His fingertips felt numb. So did his ever-dulling emotions.

The silence was the loudest thing to George. It was annoyingly unbearable. Most times, George quite enjoyed the silence. It allowed him to process his thoughts. To be alone with himself and to truly understand what he was feeling. However, in his current situation, he silently begged for any kind of noise to shatter the silence. The silent tension was suffocating him. He couldn't stand it.

George lightly tapped his fingers against the stone ground, but the frigid air soon numbed them to the point of not being able to tell he even had fingers at all. He attempted to hum the tune of his beloved song.

I am not a fool entire...

George wondered if he was.

No, I know what is coming

He didn't, really.

He stopped. Gentle drops of rainwater began to drum against the sliver of cloudy glass that lined the very top of the cell. High enough to prevent anyone from escaping, but large enough to allow natural sunlight in and make the atmosphere slightly less dismal. That day had been cloudy the entire while, George wasn't fortunate enough to have felicitous sunshine seep through the glass to warm his skin. With how stormy it had been lately, the rain wasn't surprising.

It was at least there. George welcomed it. Maybe his wish had been granted after all. A distraction. The pattering of the rain was enough to remind George that he was okay, that his body hadn't let the cold win. He was still alive for now.

George knew in the back of his mind that yes, he was going to die here eventually. He'd freeze to death before he got to frantically defend himself in front of a court that never let anyone but royalty win. He didn't want to accept that he knew that. He didn't want the warden to be right.

He felt like his world was collapsing into icy rubble.

It hadn't even been a full day yet. George already wanted to succumb to the tempts of a world of permanent sleep. Where he would no longer have to live in a world that didn't want him.

Light footsteps sounded down the prison hall. He hadn't even heard the trapdoor open, had he really become that swallowed in his terrible thoughts? At first, George questioned if he was hearing things. The footsteps were almost so light that it was difficult to make out if they were truly there or not. However, his suspicions had been confirmed when a figure arrived in front of his cell. George didn't want to look up. He assumed from the footsteps that it was a woman. Maybe one from the canteen delivering him his singular daily meal. He wasn't hungry.

"George." It was a male voice.

George jolted, immediately whipping his head up. Clay.

His expression went bitter. A simple yet effective "What do you want?" was all he could manage to squeak out.

Clay, embellished in the very cloak he first met George in, snickered and placed his body against the bars that contained George. He was immensely threatening. The prince stood very tall, his cloak draped across his shoulders. His eyes were menacing. They were a daunting shade of green that displayed no remorse for his actions. They didn't appear regretful or sorry at all. It disgusted George.

George didn't have the strength or energy to fight back like he normally would. "You... knew this would happen."

"Of course I did. I asked you to remove the initials. I didn't want to involve you, but you wouldn't listen. It doesn't matter either way, I don't feel bad." His voice was smooth and unworried. It disturbed George, knowing exactly what he was capable of and had done. It was like he didn't care at all, not a sliver. To think a boy had just outright murdered his brother and didn't feel any emotion but pride.

"I know you don't feel bad." George's words were slowed and it sounded like he was slightly struggling to form them. "I know I'm not some hero. I'm not going to attempt to be one, I know I'm not. I just want to get this over with and get out."

The prince doubled over in hilarity. "Oh yeah! That's why you're here!" George wanted to puke. "You truly think you're going to get your way?"

George stopped speaking. He peered back up the rainy glass. Maybe if he ignored him, he'd go away. Clay kept talking. "You're a lousy excuse for a fighter. You think you're fighting through this. You're going to freeze before your second meal."

George didn't answer. He already knew that.

"I came down here to see if you were actually still here. And you are. It just proves to me how fucking stupid you are. Get a grip on reality."

Silence ensued, and Clay left.

However, he did come back. But only for a mere moment. A blanket was tossed through the bars, right into George's lap. "It's entertaining seeing you try. Can't wait to watch as they throw your body into a pit."