The God Dial

The rule for this contest is that you have 15 minutes to write a story or poem. The prompt was a picture of camels and riders on giant dunes in a desert.

“Dirt beds, blistering heat and camel spit; one hell of a price to pay for a simple little misunderstanding.” Ethan had taken to talking to himself over the course of the last couple of weeks. There were others within earshot but if any of them had answered, he would have been shocked.

It was his turn to walk. He hated walking almost as much as he hated trying to not fall off of a camel’s hump as it lumbered along the giant dunes of Anhydrous, the aptly named prison planet.

Up ahead he could see the Oasis-in-a-Box. He hated those things, but still – he had already begun to salivate; quite a feat considering he was so dehydrated his tongue was swollen in his mouth.

They all jogged the last few yards to the large crates of taste-free energy mush and water. Each of the party in turn, had tried to skip out. It would be better to die than to live under such conditions. In the end, the survival instinct was too strong.

They always ate. They always drank. They always lived to see another day of hell.

Ethan marveled at the sheers genius of the punishment; Hard labor with virtually no supervision. Prisoners were simply dumped onto the planet’s surface and told that a portal to freedom was such and such a distance, that-a-way. The more severe the crime, the farther you were dropped from the portal.

Prison guard Brandon watched the banks of men; thousands of them strapped into chairs with illusion cones bolted directly to their heads. “Hey Frank, watch what happens when I turn up the heat,” he said reaching for what they playfully called The God Dial.