BONUM
You shuffle back towards your assigned group, sparing a glance at the other bracket with curiosity. Why are you organised this way? There are no obvious differences between your faction and theirs. So what was this separation about? Not that you cared at all about their wellbeing. It is simply that curiosity's grip is hard. You memorise their faces quickly before catching up with your group which had already gained a few metres on you. You didn't want any guards to get antsy.
You are all taken to the run-down yard, out the back of the prison. It is roughly 25 by 30 metres and has rough concrete floors. Benches are scattered at one end and the other, a basketball hoop, discoloured with age. Tall, concrete walls, standing at an unnecessary 8 metres high, skirt the perimeter, leaving little view of the outside world. No one has been outside the prison for a very long time. Does anyone even remember what it was like? What grass was like underfoot? How a cushioned mattress felt? What a Sunday roast tasted like? Does anyone still remember why they’re here? None of that exists within the walls. There’s nothing but steel doors, rusted tables and creaking metal beads. A prison. A concrete cage.
The space slowly fills with prisoners, congregating in small groups but nobody is talking. Guards still stand at the reinforced doors, assessing for any hint of aggression. The silence of the yard is deafening, interrupted only by the occasional whistle of wind or shift of clothing on skin. When the guards seem satisfied, they send a warning glare over the pity before walking back inside, sealing the doors shut behind them.
As soon as the guards leave, a slight chatter fills the air as prisoners relish these few relaxed moments of calm. Listening to the conversations around you, you find that other inmates are wondering why the groups were split. Was it something to do with the reform technology the scientists had mentioned earlier? What was the experiment that had briefly commented on? Were you lucky or terribly unfortunate to be the group that did not undergo treatment?
You are all taken to the run-down yard, out the back of the prison. It is roughly 25 by 30 metres and has rough concrete floors. Benches are scattered at one end and the other, a basketball hoop, discoloured with age. Tall, concrete walls, standing at an unnecessary 8 metres high, skirt the perimeter, leaving little view of the outside world. No one has been outside the prison for a very long time. Does anyone even remember what it was like? What grass was like underfoot? How a cushioned mattress felt? What a Sunday roast tasted like? Does anyone still remember why they’re here? None of that exists within the walls. There’s nothing but steel doors, rusted tables and creaking metal beads. A prison. A concrete cage.
The space slowly fills with prisoners, congregating in small groups but nobody is talking. Guards still stand at the reinforced doors, assessing for any hint of aggression. The silence of the yard is deafening, interrupted only by the occasional whistle of wind or shift of clothing on skin. When the guards seem satisfied, they send a warning glare over the pity before walking back inside, sealing the doors shut behind them.
As soon as the guards leave, a slight chatter fills the air as prisoners relish these few relaxed moments of calm. Listening to the conversations around you, you find that other inmates are wondering why the groups were split. Was it something to do with the reform technology the scientists had mentioned earlier? What was the experiment that had briefly commented on? Were you lucky or terribly unfortunate to be the group that did not undergo treatment?