The Imprisoned

(flash fiction)

It’s pouring outside. Large drops are hitting the old window. Cold wind is blowing to my back.

The room is cold and wet, although the heater is running at full. I’m sitting in a chair under a blanket, but I’m feeling under the weather. My tea is already cold as the sea behind me.

With my frozen hand, I hold the bunch of keys, a symbol of power over this place. The key to the office, the key to the central entrance, the key to the black exit, the key to the storage, the key to the security room… In the drawer there are keys to each prison cell.

The clock is ticking above my head, accompanying my migraine. Its ticking and the sound of rain are the only things that break the dull silence. The silence that will never end up…

I’m staring at the photo of my wife and son again. Bitter sorrow grips my heart.

The phone is calling. I don’t want to pick up, and there’s no reason for this. I know what they’ll say. I push it off the table, and a lamp falls too… Deep darkness envelops the room.

Lightning struck. I throw away the bunch of keys. I got fatigue of my responsibilities…

Lightning struck. I take off my cap. I’m not a boss or captain, but the same prisoner…

Lightning struck. I take the gun. A magazine is not a cylinder. The chance that it won’t fire is extremely low.

Light from the hallway comes through the door. Well, this light is no longer for me, nor for my wife and son.

I raise my hand and feel the touch of a cold barrel…

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