In Twain (BoyxBoy)

6 - f e a r

Isak

I opened my eyes to the prison cell. Again. I never stayed this long in any one place that wasn't my own home. When I announced that my name was Frank the Brown, after a day or two of it, I truly regretted it. Every time someone wanted my attention, they'd call out 'Frank the Brown.' I struggled to keep my laughter inside. It was a serious battle with myself, one that had a few near misses, but it was also one of the few amusements that I had in this place. So, regret? Yes. Amused, still? Of course. Would I do it again if given the opportunity? Probably not.

After the man who called himself Charzaphir left me in the cell, the man he called Ghimizar stayed behind and proceeded to ply me with foul-tasting liquids. He packed and bandaged my wounds. The man even pulled out a needle and stitched the bigger lacerations. I felt tired at the end of it all and wondered if he slipped in a sleep aid with the pain reliever. I laid down on the concrete slab feeling drowsy. He wrapped me in a stiff scratchy blanket and left me lying there. It was the first blanket I had since arriving, but I was still cold.

When I woke, Charzaphir's man still stood there. He argued with another white-haired man that I hadn't seen before. Ghimizar dropped his hand to his sword. The other scowled as he backed away, snapping at him in the foreign language. Ghimizar just observed him, not moving. I got a distinct feeling that Charzaphir anticipated this and did what he could to head it off. Why were they so interested in me?

I may not have been around the world a dozen times, but I still had a basic concept of how the world worked, at least how it was supposed to work until my wonky ability threw in a few cogs and bolts and broke the whole machine. This might have led me to believe that there was some sort of protection in this place, provided I could make myself interesting enough to want to protect in the first place. I initially thought it might have been from an interest in his direction, strange as that may have been. However, it was fairly obvious that I was merely made healthy to carry out physical labor.

Hauled out with several other groups of prisoners, I greeted each morning with a series of mundane tasks. They separated us into groups and off we went. Mine was chopping wood. Yes, really. I'm not sure what everyone else did to get put in this medieval chain gang and it wasn't like I could ask. My high school Spanish did nothing for me here.

Each cold morning, I donned a moth-eaten woolen wrap that itched like a bitch and did very little against the cold given that the bugs got more of the material than I did. Staying active in the cold helped, but only a bit. It was still bitingly cold. I got a few raised eyebrows and strange looks as I jumped up in down in place, chains rattling, trying to stay warm, but the blisters-my poor hands could not get used to the blisters.

They split spilling a clear serum onto my palms, making the handle slippery and painful to close my hands around. I tried to bite the pain away by chewing on my lips, and the insides of my cheeks, but my hands dropped the ax a third time. It got the attention of the grumpy guard assigned to watch me. Charzaphir wasn't my guard. It almost felt like he actively avoided me, but that was my imagination. He had his man patch me up to go to work, not from sympathy. Practicality. I saw the point of it even when I got the raw end of the deal. So did my hands.

I stooped down to pick up the fallen ax. The guard walked up behind me and shoved me. I sprawled inelegantly. Glaring at him, I got to my feet, muttering to myself and trying not to curse him aloud. He shouted and shoved me again. How many times did I need to demonstrate that I did not understand their language? He shoved me a third time. Once again I hit the ground. What the Hell? My shout caught the attention of Charzaphir. He rode up. His voice was loud as he exchanged terse words with the guard. It didn't mean anything to me. I was lost, in more ways than one. Maybe I did this to myself. The guard pointed at me. Damn it.