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II
Back In the Cell

“You would think that the feeling of a jail cell wouldn’t be so vague, yet nothing is familiar to me…nothing,” Gillen said as his head pressed up against one of the iron bars, his face showing glum and despair.
“I’m used to it. But I don’t want to be Gillen. No man should be used to a prison cell!” Jarvis screamed.
A guard hurriedly trotted over from a little ways down the hall.
“Keep it down in there you two. I’ve had you in here a number of times, and I know how to silence you if it need be done,” the guard said, having all authority he wore it clear on his smug face.
Gillen despised that face, and every other face that belonged to a guard. Those faces though made it nowhere close to how much one face stuck out at the current place and time. For a tiny, ever so faint glimpse, Gillen had seen Cornelius’ face, and all he wanted to do was hold on to it. Hold onto that face so that he might be able to find him and give him a good beating. Of course he would bring along a dozen other men so that would be possible.
Gillen walked to the small cot with slumped shoulders, and a haggard and distressed face. The two men were zero out of a million tries in accomplishing their missions that they created for themselves. After a while, it became more than simply disheartening when they would fail, the consequence in prison wasn’t the hard part either. It was the fact that they knew that nothing could go wrong, yet something always did. Being with their own thoughts that they cursed themselves with was brutal.
“Gillen?” Jarvis called from his side of his cell, a downcast voice that fit well with his droopy and depressed eyes.
“Yeah Jarvis?”
“Will we ever make it?”
“Out of prison? ‘Course we will, I already got a plan underway.”
Jarvis sighed, and shifted his gaze to his worn and faded leather boots.
“No, not that. I mean…when we get out of prison, will we always be just two men trying to steal our way to a taste of what it’s like to live normally? Or will we always just be two men with no money lyin’ in the gutter for the other people to walk on us and spit on us and warn their children that if they don’t do what they’re told, they’ll end up like us too?”
Gillen couldn’t meet the pitiful man’s gaze, for it was simply too bleak. But he sighed and thought of an answer that wouldn’t send Jarvis over the edge into the dark abyss of insanity.
“’Course we will. One day, Jarvis. One day.”
As if they had come to a silent agreement on it, not a word was spoken thereafter. Gillen and Jarvis both d the guards for making them give up their coats. The cell was so cold; they could see their own breath. There was a leak in the damp, moss-covered stone ceiling where the down pouring rain had the freedom to drip all over the cell; including Gillen’s cot. The cot was bolted down to the ground too, so he would just have to put up with it for the nights to come in his white lace shirt, and worn old brown breeches.
“Damnation,” he grumbled, and then rolled over and did what he could to fall asleep.



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The following comments are for "The Companions: 2"
by ArturHawking





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