The Cell

The Cell

In the basement of a house, in the woods somewhere, there is a jail cell. A jail cell made with love and fear, conviction and resentment. All of the mixed purposes of this cell are irrelevant, for there has only ever been one person inside. A person who has been there for a long time. Time stands still when your only view is obscured by bars of rusted iron. For eons and eons this prisoner has been here. Sitting there on his cot, dreaming his dreams and thinking his thoughts. Never allowed guests, not that anyone would intrude so disgracefully, but for a lone slave who brings him water and food. The prisoner glances at the slave and grants a smile towards her. She slides a tray of food and water below the bars of the cell, takes a seat on the ground and begins to pull out a loaf of bread to eat.
"My dear Mrs. Radric," the prisoner begins in his low growl of a voice, "you have given me food yet again; I thank you for your generosity." The prisoner crawls over to the plate of water and food and leans on the corner of the wall adjacent to the cell bars. He grabs his food and begins to eat, appreciating every bite he takes, for he is fed well, and the only acknowledgment he can rightfully express. The slave's eyes never leave the prisoner, glancing at him with pity and remorse. Her glances only met with gray matted hair, and rough leathery skin that time has mutilated. His pale skinned hands that pulse with history, frighteningly tall compared to her own small stature. With the bread that she carried with her, she eats along with the prisoner. Her beautiful white hands and blinding purple dress folded beneath her as she eats. Her dark brown hair, a waterfall of loops, outlining her small angular face. Her eyes still, never removing her sight from the prisoner. He sets his fork down and meets her gaze with apprehension before speaking. "Could you please not glare at me so intently Mrs. Radric, I have no intention of leaving." His voice breaks her posture, for the first time her eyes averted, and they find her staring at the floor. She sneaks glances sporadically and attempts to hide her indiscretion.
"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you, I...."
"Think nothing of it, I simply disagree with being the center of your attention."
Her eyes begin scattering around like cockroaches at the sight of light. His eyes still and slow. The rest of time he has to think and be, this small moment means very little to him.
"Oh, stop that now, why all this circumvention? Please, tell me again about how you flew to the edge of the universe on your master's airplane; I do enjoy that story."
Her eyes brighten up and she begins to tell the story of how she flew that lovely adventure with her master once. As she speaks the awkward aura of her contempt vanishes and her joy of adventure is brought to the edges of her eyes. Her hands begin to dance as if she is back to that time in the airplane, and the way she felt light and free. Towards the end of her story, a knock emerges from the stairs leading to the door. Her eyes dart around, frightened, and she attempts to gain composure. Shortly after, another knock breaks the silence followed by a voice that could only be coming from a behemoth of a man.
"Come here my dear wife, we have things to do today." His voice shatters any composure the slave has gathered. The prisoner begins to stand up and move back towards his cot, and frowns just before sitting down.
"Dear Mrs. Radric, your master-husband is calling for you. I detest his yelling, so please, go to him. We can continue the story some other time, I shall be right here, forever."
She gathers up the food and water and stuffs the barely eaten bread back into her dress. She rushes upstairs, but not without a final glance at the prisoner. Something in her eyes is vying for a story to be told, for her master will never listen, and her conscience is aware of this denial. As she turns around to leave, the prisoner catches an image of her body wrapped in gold strings, all tethered to the master. The master of his puppet, pulling her strings as fitting as any marionette.
The prisoner peers at the cot that has been his resting place for years, he begins to fantasize. He limps to the bed and unfolds onto it; spreading his arms and legs out in multiple directions, as some esoteric torture method, letting his limbs dangle off of the bed that is too small for his body. He reaches under the bed and locates the pillow that the slave has brought him, these delicacies must be cherished. As he places the pillow beneath his neck, he attempts a smile, a failed attempt he is aware. The sunlight breaching through the cell window above his bed, he blocks the sun's rays from his eyes with his much better arm, and sleeps.
The prisoner awakes involuntarily, due to the loud slam of a heavy iron door with scratches and footprints that decorate it. It is Mr. Radric, with an imposing posture and facial arrangement. A large square face with slicked back hair, as black as the moonless night, adorned by thin-framed glasses and a very thick mustache that trespasses over his large mouth. The prisoner lifts himself from the bed and notices that the sun has faded away and the moon is gracing him with its benevolence. He hobbles over to the cell door and leans against the wall adjacent to the cell bars that block his freedom.
"Oh, how nice of you to join me Mr. Radric. To what do I owe the pleasure this night?" His eyes focus on the master, and the master's eyes on the prisoner. The motionless tension, broken only by the dancing flame of the candle the master is holding. The once obscuring darkness now illuminated.
"How does it feel to be in that cage you animal?" The master grunts with brutish elegance. The master garishly approaches the cell and stops merely shy of its lock. His large muscular body more akin to a gorilla than anything human, one hand in his suit pants pocket, the other a tightly bawled fist that shakes with anger. A mocking gesture definitively cast to instill a sense of fear and dread on to the prisoner; no such fear or dread emerge, a failed attempt at bravado. The same eyes glare at the master, never flinching or retreating.
"Mr. Radric, I do wish you would cease with these threats and intimidation games, I am already in your cell, as I have been for many years."
"I demand to know what you and my wife talk about!" The master's voice is thunderous and clear. The ruse manipulated his emotions to himself, but the prisoner knows all too well the feeling and thought behind the inquiry.
"Sir, what could we possibly be-"
"You talk about me, I know you do. Don't deny it!" A mixture of sadness and anger swirl within the master's face, stomping his foot as he yells. "I just want you to say it, you coward!" The prisoner simply gazes at the master with the blank expression of endless apathy. "That wench, I will show her that she can't laugh at me." There is no reaction from the prisoner, no emotion for the master to attack. The master's anger stalled; the release never comes. As the master says those words, a small smirk coated in anger, begins to increase its presence upon his face. The prisoner shifts the weight of his body from the wall to his legs, with an attempt to stand upright.
"Please sir, don't speak ill of Mrs. Radric. I would most appreciate that." This is the only request the prisoner has ever asked. This request is to be clearly denied by the master. The master begins to walk away with the smirk encompassing his disposition. The master climbs the stairs and slams the door shut, denying outright the request of the prisoner. The prisoner decides to slink over to the bed and grabs hold of the pillow, staring at its power, its magnificence, and sleeps.
The sound of the door to the basement being shut, awakens the prisoner; he notices that it is a much lighter sound so, in anticipation, the prisoner expects the slave. His anticipation is graciously rewarded. Slowly creeping in, is the slave holding a plate with the food he is to eat, the prisoner never grasps the day, the month, or even the year he is in; he is only certain of the slave's consistent meals. She places the food on the ground and begins to walk away.
"Oh, my dear, where are you off to? Have I frightened you?" The prisoner attempts to catch a glimpse of the slave's face but, reluctantly, it is well hidden within the darkness and the fading candlelight that moves with the slave, for of all the candles in this basement, her candle burns the brightest. The slave begins to slow her stride and question her judgments before turning around to face the prisoner. He lifts himself from the ground and presses his body to the cell bars as the shine of falling tears begin to stream down the slave's face, her face appearing to be deeply saddened by the inclination that she would be repelled by him. Indecisive and remorseful, she gathers her spirits and labors up the stairs. The door slams and the prisoner slumps down by the side of the cell bars and starts to eat. Coughing aggressively as he places each bit of food inside his mouth and jarringly consumes his meal. He eats in silence with the low light of the candles dancing in the room. The motion of the candles never distracted him, but this night he has focused on a candle across his cell. He had never stopped to look at the room around him and the wooden beams holding the floor above the basement. The fluttering agony of its indentured isolation, dancing on the wick, all alone in the dark. The light, beautifully dancing, lulls him to sleep.
The prisoner awakes, there is no sound that wakes him, no giant slam of a door to shake him up. The whisper of the wind and the creak of his bed gather him. As he peers through the bars, he notices the body of a woman curled up on the floor against his cell. It is Mrs. Radric, her hands are covering her eyes, once beautiful, now dirty. Smeared dirt stains and tears litter her hands as the faint crying drones on. The prisoner moves closer to the cell door and opens his mouth to speak.
"Mrs. Radric, whatever is the matter?" Mrs. Radric slows her crying and removes her hands from her face to show a bruise on her right eye. Dark, swollen, and dirty, the slave's eye is unrecognizable to the prisoner. Her eyes, that stood as windows into her being, are now askew; a broken bridge to heaven. Beside the slave, is the prisoner's meal. An island of steak and potatoes with a fork and knife slid into the side of the plate. The slave slides the food to the prisoner, and he begins to eat slowly.
"He has signed my soul away, with a fist that weighs... twenty million galaxies," her voice breaking as she continues. "My soul has been... decimated... by brutality." The candle she has placed on the ground next to her, dancing wildly, taunting the futility of her efforts, shining light on her darkened existence. The prisoner places an expression on his face, one that Mrs. Radric had never seen on him before. She gazes at the prisoner, the mirrors that are his eyes reflect the pitiful woman she knows herself to be. As he eats, she explains her discontent. The endless stages of her life repeatedly burnished as would a trophy on a shelf. The master's degradations have persisted for eons behind that hulking door. These thoughts and feelings the prisoner has never seen Mrs. Radric display. They both sit in silence. A silence that contained multitudes of vulnerability. A silence capable of annihilation. The prisoner places his knife against the steak, takes a deep breath, and begins to speak.
"Mrs. Radric, my dear, this steak is rather tough." The prisoner speaks while stabbing the fork and knife into the steak. "And I know you not to cook simplemindedly." She answers with a yes.
"What does that-"
"Tough indeed, but no matter." He slices the steak with incredible ease. "It really all comes down to the technique of the blade, the exact angle to tear the steak, rip it apart, to pierce it wholly, and shred everything off." He takes a deep breath, calming his nerves from cutting the steak. His breath is spasmodic, and his body lightly quakes at the thoughts. As he runs the blade down the steak, Mrs. Radric's eyes are glued to it. It is as the prisoner stated, the knife glides through the steak. Hacking off the desired cut, reducing it to shrivels. "You see my dear, even the toughest stake can be reduced to butter." Without a glance towards each other, Mrs. Radric wipes her tears and gathers herself. The immeasurable gravity between them is enough to tear the world apart. She grabs the candle and starts to head towards the door, that hulking slab of wood and iron. The sound of the door slamming fills the prisoner with promise, a feeling he is not too familiar with. He glances down to find that in his view the knife has vanished.
"Oh, Mrs. Radric," the prisoner whispers to himself, "I believe you have taken something away from this." A smile creeps onto the prisoner's face. He clears his mind and heads towards his bed, a sleep that he will most enjoy.
The smell of burning wood and the immense sound of crackling fire breaks the prisoner's sleep. He saunters out of the bed and towards the cell bars to find Mrs. Radric sitting neatly on the floor. Pools of crimson and streaks of scarlet stain her body and claim her.
"Mrs. Radric, what has happened?" Mrs. Radric lifts her face to see the prisoner. She holds her hand out and shows him the knife drenched in the blood of brutish masters. She tilts her head back and for the first time, lets out an intense laugh. The prisoner stands struck, gazing around at the fire and the ever-nearing destruction. "Mrs. Radric, you must leave, get out of here, these flames will not take you." Mrs. Radric climbs onto her feet and walks over to the cell door, her wrists jingling with the keys of freedom.
The prisoner examines her body closely and notices a giant gash in her side. The gash is monstrous, a fatal wound to be sure. With what is undoubtedly her last strand of energy, she places the keys into the keyhole and opens the cell, falling to the floor immediately after.
"Mrs. Radric, what has happened?" She slowly attempts to answer the prisoner, her body on her last vestiges of life.
"Not quite.... like butter...but I...did it" Mrs. Radric lets out a faint laugh while teetering on the brink of expiration. For the prisoner being out of the cage means almost nothing. The visions he once dreamed of were here, but simply didn't matter now. The prisoner can see that these are her last moments with him in this space, in this universe. The prisoner kneels down in front of Mrs. Radric as she leans her head on his chest. He can see the frayed remains of her golden strings, singed by the flames of conviction.
"Please, tell me again about how you flew to the edge of the universe on your master's airplane, I would like to hear it just one more time." Mrs. Radric's head grows heavier and heavier as she tries to tell the story one last time. She never finishes, her body beginning to turn limp signals tears from the prisoner. Together by the invading fire, the prisoner and the slave sit, him stroking her hair. With the sound of fire and hell surrounding them, the prisoner leans in and speaks his last words to the slave.
"You are free now Mrs. Radric."