The Prisoner, Chapter 3

Hey everyone! It’s been a little while since my last post, I’ve finished the third chapter to my short story, I hope you have been enjoying it so far. Love you guys!

J. D. Sonnenberg

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Chapter 3: The Judge

He turned to see another man who had just stepped through the door, which was promptly locked behind him. The man looked familiar, he was much older, he had a large muscled frame, a serious yet not unkind face, and silvery-gray hair that was trimmed close. It was his eyes though that caught the attention of the younger man, his eyes, a pale and icy blue, were those of someone who knew far more than their years and someone who was no stranger to grief.

It was obvious to the younger man that he knew this stranger, but he did not know how and from where he knew him, he stared dully towards the man trying to recover any memories that might be available to him. The older man was the first to break the silence, “Good morning Adam, how are you feeling?”. The man’s voice, just like his features, was deep and powerful, yet he spoke with a gentle tone. After recovering from the shock at hearing another voice for what felt like the first time in eons, and the surprise at hearing his own name, Adam attempted to form a response. He was tired, sore, and now that he thought about it, quite hungry. “As well as I can be. I am very hungry though… s-sir.” He answered, beginning to stutter.

The older man responded with a quick smile, and by returning to the door and knocking once. The door opened and a bowl was handed through the opening to the man. Adam had tried to see through the doorway so that he might at least have an idea where he was, but the light from outside was blinding in contrast to the darkness of his cell.

The door was locked once again and the man stretched his right hand with the bowl towards Adam, it was meat and potato stew. Adam snatched the plate abruptly and started gorging himself on the food that might otherwise be bland and unappetizing, with no hint of salt or seasoning to be found. As he finished, he felt just a little ashamed by his action of grabbing the food from the older man, he looked up and nodded appreciatively at him, and handing him the bowl. The older man responded in kind, nodding back and smiled, both in amusement at Adam’s actions and in gladness to satiated at least one of the younger man’s needs.

Taking the bowl, setting it on the floor next to the door and turning back to Adam. Adam looked up at him now, and the older man could see the question in his eyes; “why am I here?”. The older man’s mood changed, and his smile faded as he took on a more impassible demeanor. After standing there for a moment, thinking of the words he would use, he looked at Adam then began to speak. “I am to be your judge during the upcoming trial.”, he gestured to the bookshelves, “These are your crimes. The sentence you face is death”.

To be Continued…

 

<< Chapter 2
Chapter 4 >>

The Prisoner, Chapter 2

Alright, a little belated, but here is chapter 2 of my short story. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy!

J. D. Sonnenberg

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Chapter 2: The Discovery

The young man stared at the book on the floor with a mix of horror and disbelief, the page that he had read contained one of his past blunders, a lapse of judgement that he had tried hard to forget, a fault that he had taken numerous precautions to hide, to keep a secret, a mistake that he thought no one had discovered.

Looking back up to the shelf, the man eyed another book. He reached for the book, but hesitated as his hand was halfway, then he wrapped his hand over the black leather spine. “They can’t all be so terrible”, he thought to himself. He removed the book from the shelf, he stared at it in his hand still unsure if he would read it. He ran the index finger of his left hand over the foredge of the book before prying it open to the first page.

A state of panic set in as the man read another of his crimes. He threw the book to the ground and grabbed another, and another, his heartbeat rising with every line he read, his vision blurring from the increasing amounts of epinephrine coursing through his veins. He continued until he stood in front of an empty shelf with a pile of books at his feet. His vision began to clear as he stared at the pile of books that were at his feet. “These books are all filled with every mistake, every crime I’ve ever committed, and written in such excruciating detail that not even I could remember. How could someone record all of this?”, he wondered in absolute horror, as he looked at all the other shelves in the room.

“I have to get out of here!”, thought the man as he rushed over to the door as fast as his protesting legs would allow. Reaching for the handle he gave it a tug, “locked”, he tried again, pulling at the door with all his strength, but to no avail. The door was fastened with a three-inch deadbolt made of ballistic-grade steel, though he couldn’t have known this. He looked at the lock next, located below the handle. Wondering if he could pick it, but the lock was far too complicated and he lacked any tools that would be needed to pick a lock, not so much as a hairpin.

His next thought was to destroy the books, but as he walked towards the nearest shelf, he decided it would prove impossible with the number of volumes contained there. After further reasoning he decided that whomever had imprisoned him would have thought of the possibility and have taken the necessary precautions and keep backup records. As he stood there pondering what was to be done, he started at a sudden noise, produced from something behind him.

To be Continued…

 

<< Chapter 1
Chapter 3 >>

The Prisoner, Chapter 1

Here’s the first chapter of the short story I am trying to write, The Prisoner. I hope you like it, I’ll try to have the next chapter posted within a month. Love you guys!

J. D. Sonnenberg

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The Prisoner

Chapter 1: The Cell

The young man awoke, lying with his back to a cold concrete floor, unable to remember how he got there or why. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking at a stone ceiling, “where am I?” he asked himself. Confused he lifted his head to look around, but dropped it back immediately, the muscles in his neck too weary to hold the weight of his own head. “Why is this so difficult?” he thought. Deciding he should attempt to sit up, he rolled to his side and used his arms to push himself into a sitting position, his bones aching and his muscles screaming in protest while he did so. Once he was sitting, he took in his surroundings, finding that he was in a concrete room, dimly lit by a single light in the center of the ceiling.

The room itself was quite spacious and full of shelves that cast their shadows in every direction, each containing a copious quantity of books. The man finished his scan of the room at a large metal door, located on the far end to his left, but other than that there was nothing to be seen. He decided that he should head for the door. Grunting and sweating with the intense effort, he braced his arms against the floor and stood slowly to his feet. Despite how slowly he had risen, his head began to swim. He reached up and placed a hand on his forehead in an attempt to steady himself. As the wave of nausea subsided, he felt something dry and crusted underneath his fingertips, “what’s this?” he asked aloud, knowing there was no one to hear his question.  He traced the substance to the back of his head, where he discovered a contusion that had long since dried. “Where did this come from?” he wondered to himself, wincing as he touched the wound.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, determined to make his way to the door. On the slow procession to the door, he glanced at one of the shelves as he walked past, leaning on it for support. He stopped walking, as curiosity began to eat away at his resolve. He looked back towards the door, “The door isn’t going anywhere, I may as well take a peek.” he thought as he faced the shelf.

Looking at the various books on the shelf, the man was perplexed by the fact that each and every book was an identical to the other. All the books were of equal size, bound in soft black leather, with no markings on the outside. He turned to look at another shelf, noting that the books on it were also identical to those in front of him. More curious than ever, the man turned back to the shelf in front of him and removed a book, neatly opening it to a page near the beginning. Before he could finish reading the page however, his breath halted as he dropped the book in horror.

To be Continued…

 

Chapter 2 >>