He sat there, staring at the floor. There was dust below his feet and darkness surrounding him. The cell was cold, freezing in fact. It was already winter and he was given only a small blanket to survive. There were officers outside, screaming. He looked outside, watching the prisoners march by.
There wasn't a word spoken here, everyone kept to himself or herself. Sounds were heard; the sound of fingers knocking on steel to keep occupied. Patrick stared in front of him, the more he stared the more enraged he began to feel.
I shouldn't be the one in here, Seth should.
At that, he banged his fist into the nearby wall. The wall started to crumble a bit and a pebble fell onto the ground, echoing it's sound. Patrick stared at the pebble, then at the place he had taken his anger at. Gently, he stroked his fingers across the surface. It was rough. Before he can do anything else, a shout of heard from outside.
"All prisoners from row 7, step down!" An officer stood outside Patrick's cell. The cell door opened and the officer lead Patrick outside to do some yard work. "Number 435749, clean up that mess to your left." Patrick walked over to the trash littered over the grass and began to place each piece into a bag. He wasn't concentrating on his work, but on the gate across from it.
There were sharp tips on the gate; they would kill whoever tried to climb over it. There was also a security camera on the top, catching whoever tried to escape.
There's no way I would survive that.
Patrick turned his head to stare at one of the officers. He had a club that he carried in his hands, not afraid to use it. He learned from his mistakes from messing with the officers. Those clubs weren't easy on your back.
He continued to pick up the trash, watching the officers carefully. One of them caught his staring and wasn't too happy about it. He walked over to Patrick, staring over him. Patrick continued picking up trash, fully aware of the officer behind his back. He stopped picking up trash for a moment, turning around to face the officer. "I'd like to do my work in peace."
"And I'd like a sundae with fudge topping, but that doesn't mean I'll get it." He whacked his club in his hands in rhythm. Patrick stared at the club, wondering if he could get his hands on it. When the officer noted this, he didn't seem so amused. He forced the club into Patrick's stomach and Patrick fell onto the ground in pain. "That ought to teach you."
The officer was about to walk away, but Patrick didn't let him. He gripped onto the officer's ankle, pulling as hard as he could. The officer fell down, along with his club. The other officers turned their heads and stared at the officer on the floor. "You son of gun," The officer tried to get up, but Patrick got his hands on the officer's club.
Using all of his strength, Patrick forced the club onto the officer's back and began beating at it. The other officers rushed to the scene and pushed Patrick onto his knees. They held him back, using their clubs and forcing it into Patrick's stomach. He screamed in agony, falling onto the ground. Blood dripped from his mouth from the beating. He wiped it away and screamed at the officers. The officers pushed him into a wall with his face to the wall and cuffed him.
"You will obey our orders or else!" The officer locked Patrick into his cell again, but the cuffs stayed on. "No food for three days, that ought to teach you some manners." The cell door closed and Patrick was locked into darkness again.
"Damn!" He screamed as he spit the blood in his mouth onto the ground. "I'll get you for this, Faith, I will!"