The Prison

“Everywhere they are waiting. In silence.
In boredom. Staring into space.”

Their cleanshaven heads were buried into there greasy, dirty hands, absolute boredom engulfing them. For months now they had been waiting, waiting for something, anything to happen and relieve them of the sheer dullness.

The humid, claustrophobic tent area was there sanctuary yet it was also their prison. The hot desert outside was an empty vast plane of absolute nothingness. The tent itself was consisted of broken chairs, gas masks, uniforms, water containers and polished, treasured weaponry.

The men sat in complete silence, the heat too extreme to dare utter a word. Their once white vests stuck to their wet, muscular bodies and sweat slowly trickled down their foreheads and creeped down their necks.

Their eyes stared aimlessly into space, glassy and blank. The only movement to be seen was the occasional blink.

A soft noise came from near the corner of the tent, from one of soldiers. He had broken the silence. A hundred eyes turned towards him. He sat there and looked straight back at them, tears rapidly filling his eyes. His shaking hands let go of something, and a small photograph fell to the sandy floor. His beautiful wife and his little girl smiled up at them, their faces blurred by his tears.

The ripple started. One by one, they broke out of their moulds. Many looked away in embarrassment, embarrassment for his display of weakness at a time like this. Some started to cry themselves, hidden tears suddenly coming to the surface, emotions finally embraced.

Most reached inside their own pockets or backpacks and produced their own memories of families, frustration and sorrow spreading through their exhausted bodies.

Slowly they began to stand up, and trudged towards the flapping entrance of the tent. They took one last look at the place they had called home and walked out. The sunlight washed over their faces, and a sudden cool breeze cleansed their every pore. Enough was enough. They were going home.