The Prisoner - The Arrival

He held her close as her life\'s blood flowed like a crimson river. A trail of her essence collecting on the ground around them. Her emerald eyes arched skyward until the stillness of death blanked their once warm countenance. Looking down in a state of shock, he shook her lightly. There was no life left in the crumpled shell. He lifted her to his chest, tears joining her blood on the cold pavement. Slowly stroking, his fingers moved over the pale flesh of her forehead. His lips kissed her again and again, as if willing his love to lift her from her fate. No prayers would be answered this night. No hope would come from this darkness. And so... it begins...

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The rain pit-pattered against the cell wall. It was a constant rhythm through the day and an unending curse at night. A man rests near the bars, his head against cold metal, clothing tattered and stained with blood. So long ago they had taken her from him, but not completely gone. When the winds howled he would hear her laughing. It would echo through the empty walls and into the abyss of his prison. Some nights he would wake to see her there, lying against him. Her chest softly rose and fell in her sleep. He would reach out to touch her cheek but the vision would vanish like a dream into the night. The tears would come again. He would curl his legs to his chest and no one would be able to move him. As if they cared. He had not seen another human being since they took her from him.

He shifted his leg, stretching it outwards along the cold floor. A single, thin finger ran down the metal bar before him. His eyes closed to hold back the tears that were forming and block out the visions that swam in his head. A steady thud-thud echoed dully as padded feet moved down the corridor, a lighter pattering following close behind. The prisoner\'s dull gray eyes opened to see a guard, clad in black leather standing not two feet away. Behind this armored behemoth stood a young woman, battered and beaten, in rags that barely covered her form. The guard spied him with a suspicious look before he opened the door of the cell. The hinges creaked with consternation as they were forced to move after so many long years. A single shove sent the girl skittering across the floor. Metal met metal as the door slammed shut, a click of the lock given before the guard withdrew once more.

His eyes shifted towards the girl. She was now on her knees near the center of the cell. Struggling against the bonds that tied her wrists. She didn\'t seem to notice his presence at all. The skin on her wrists was torn and raw. Crusted blood clung to her arms, and the milky yellow tone of infection had set in on the wounds themselves. Short brown hair, toned almost black from filth, clung about her face in ragged strands. Her face and chest were badly bruised and the remnants of a deep cut remained as a thin pink line on one shoulder. Her thin back was marred with deep valleys, scars from a whip\'s cruel sting.

Silent tears slowly traced their way through her dirt-laden face as she vainly struggled against the rope that held her wrists. Fresh blood, mixed with off-white infection ran down her arms as the wounds were torn open once more. The prisoner could no longer sit there, idly and watch the girl hurt herself. It took barely a moment, a quick movement of his body and he was next to her, strong hands grabbing her own arms to halt her from her task. The girl gave a shrill cry, using what little strength she had to fight his hold. He silenced her by gripping her jaw firmly with one hand. Startled, she whimpered in her throat. Only after she had quieted, did he loosen his grip. Two fingers were lightly placed against her lips as a signal to keep quiet. Pale, frightened eyes watched as he carefully untied the ropes that bound her wrists.

For a long time she simply stared at him. He felt her gaze long after he had withdrawn back to his own corner of the cell. The silence went on for hours, until the light began to fade from the small chamber. The eerie quiet would have remained, had it not been for the loud clank of metal upon stone. Three small dishes were pushed through a grate in the door. Two were half-filled with a strange brownish substance, that resembled chunky gruel. The third was filled with water. The prisoner did not move, leaving the girl to shoot nervous glances between him and the food that was offered. She reached out, like a frightened animal attempting to grab what it can and run. It was her wounds that failed her. The weakened wrists gave out, sending the dish and it\'s contents skittering across the floor, as a cry of pain escaped from her lips. The metal dish spun slightly, as a coin when rolled, and then came to a rest a fair distance away. A meal, set to waste upon the dirt-covered floor. Her hands dangled, useless, and all the girl could do was curl herself up, and sob.

One who has lived in darkness for so long is not often used to kindness or sympathy. Reality had turned the prisoner cold long ago, but something was drawing forth that spark of humanity within him. Compassion ebbed up into that heart and pity showed in his cool-gray eyes. A sigh escaped him as he accepted this fate that was thrust upon him. He would rather have this girl here than no companion at all. Reaching out, he took the remaining bowl, setting it in his lap as he lightly moved himself along the floor to her side. The girl\'s eyes lifted and she attempted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, only succeeding in depositing a streak of blood across her features. The man placed two fingers into the gruel and drew forth some, offering it to her. Hesitant, her eyes flitted away from him in a shy manner. Patience was a virtue, and in time, hunger overcame fear. She leaned forward slightly, and accepted the food from his fingers, although it was clear she felt quite strange in doing so.

He shared a little more than half of his bowl with the girl before setting it aside. Her eyes followed him as he tore a strip of cloth from his tattered trousers and dipped it into the bowl of cloudy water. He gently reached out for her hand, putting the damp cloth against her wrist gently. The girl hissed through clenched teeth as he moved the cloth to clear away the dirt and blood, but she did not draw away. The same cloth was lifted to wipe the stains from her cheeks. A reassuring nod was given from the prisoner to the girl before he withdrew to his own corner. He ate alone, with her eyes still watching him.

Soon, the remainder of the sun\'s light fell from the chamber and night\'s chill took hold. The man laid himself out upon the stone floor, a tiny woolen blanket pulled up over his body. The girl sat near the cell\'s door, a strange, hopeless look in her eyes. Thin legs were drawn up to her chest, arms pulled inward, trembling from the cold. Her soft breath hung in the air, as the pale eyes searched down the hall, as if hoping for some form of salvation. The man\'s head settled finally atop his arms, although he continued to watch her, long after she had fallen into a fevered sleep.

Shaking his head, the prisoner slowly rose, taking the short steps across the cell. His own blanket, his one possession, was gently laid over the girl\'s shoulders. This day had been very strange for this man, and it was getting stranger as time wore on. The girl did not even stir as the blanket was set in place, but her shivering seemed to ease slightly. There were no words of thanks, only a sigh given from the man as he returned to the far corner of the room. The floor would be his blanket tonight. And so, the heaviness of sleep took him. The two beings remained, together yet alone.