Prisoner of War

John stared at the dirt and filth inside his tiny prison cell. The heat beat on the roof during the day and the evening brought relief. The cool breeze wrapped around him like tentacles slithering up and down his sweat streaks. He was thirsty and he knew his only rations would be coming soon, along with a tin of water.

The guard approached and threw his meager rations in the dirt. John ravenously devoured it. The guard grinned and placed a tin of murky water barely within his reach. He knew not to reach for it. The welts on his arms attested to the club held by the powerful right arm of the guard.

“You filthy pig,” he said in perfect English. “Go ahead. Get your water.”

John licked his cracked lips. He kept his head down and toiled in the sand. The smell of urine and feces wafted from the other cells. John barely noticed.

“You aren’t worth it.” The disgusted guard turned to the next cell, throwing rations between those bars.

John waited. He knew the guard might turn. The muddy water glinted like liquid heaven. The small impact waves from the footfalls of the guard taunted him. At last, he retrieved the cup and drank.

Night fell like a curtain. The cool becoming cold as the clear skies sucked up the heat. Shivering, John thought only of his daughter -- Relaxing on his porch and watching her play on the slide he’d built. John fell into a restless sleep.

He awoke in the morning to face another beating. After two years, he had no idea of the date. He only knew that he’d made it through another day of dysentery and misery. His only thoughts were death or the joy of rescue. This was his whole world.


300 Words
Flash Story Must contain: Tentacles, Night, Curtain