Prisoner 63

Bandito

The boy opened his eyes.

The walls around him were white; walls he'd stared at aimlessly for so long, for longer than he could remember. The pure whiteness of them gave him a constant headache, and he willed his eyes to shut again, hoping he'd be able to drift back off to sleep. Giving up, he heaved himself into a sitting position against one of the cold walls, the effort of the action leaving him panting, lifting shaky, pale white hands to brush the wild black hair out of his eyes.

The same room. The same, tiny, empty, pure white room. Four walls, one door; made out of metal that he had given up trying to break through. Leaning against the wall, he stared at the door, wondering when it would open. It opened once every now and again, when they would come to get him, and a few other times to put food in this tiny space.

He licked his lips, feeling how cracked they were, his mouth tasting foul. The bright, white light above his head was beginning to make his eyes hurt, and he turned his gaze weakly to the red light in the corner, the only spot of colour in the room. A tiny, blinking red light.

Thump, thump, clunk. Thump, thump, clunk.

The boy blinked, hearing the signature footsteps and walking cane before the door was unlocked and swung open with a painful screech. He was standing behind the door, two other men with him.

The boy couldn't decide whether this was his favourite part of existence, or the part he most hated. Leaving this tiny room was a blessing, but with them, it was awful.

He didn't bother fighting as the two men entered the room, their white lab coats blending into the walls; their bodies were almost indistinguishable, like they were part of his cage. Cold metal cuffs were clasped around his ankles, arms, and one around his neck. He hated that one most, it made it hurt to breathe, and it constantly cut his neck open, dripping dark red splashes of blood onto the white gown he was wearing. Long chains were attached to the cuffs, and the men tugged on them sharply.

The boy couldn't help but whine in pain, forcing himself to his feet, legs shaking as he tried to stay standing. The boy looked down at his own emaciated body, and gave a weak frown. It looked nothing like theirs. His body was pale, skin as white as the walls, stretched thinly over bones. Their skin was a rosy colour, full of life, and they weren't as short or skinny as he was.

The boy drew in a deep breath. One step forward. Another. Another. And another.

Soon he was out of the tiny cell, standing in a long corridor, with walls just as white. The other man was staring down at him, and the boy refused to meet his gaze. He could feel himself sweating from nerves. He didn't like that man.

"Come on then, we don't have all day."

Day. What was 'day'? They said it all the time; but the boy never knew what it was. They said so many things, so many confusing words, so many that he didn't understand. He longed to understand them, to be able to speak them, but he wasn't allowed to say any of the words he knew.

He did his best to keep up with the men as they made their way down the hallway, but he felt like he was going to pass out. His head hurt, his eyes stung, and he wanted curl up in his cell and sleep. The chains dragged him along, the ones attached to his ankles nearly making him fall over more than once.

The corridor had seemed to stretch on forever, but finally they reached the end of it, walking into a room at the end.

This room was one the boy knew quite well; it was the only other room he'd ever seen. His cell, that corridor, this room. His entire life.