Prisoner

His chains rustled.

The little girl shifted in her chair to look at him more closely while pretending not to look.

He wore the same bright orange jumpsuit the other prisoners wore, the men who bagged her mother’s groceries at the Commissary. But he had shackles around his ankles and his wrists. The shackles were held together by lengths of chain welded to a metal belt that cinched around his waist. Two soldiers, heavily armed with giant guns, flanked his sides.

Her own chains were less visible and very quiet. Her guard was her mother, heavily armed with abuse, who at that very moment was pinching her arms with deep purple bruises and whisper screaming that she should not stare.

She wondered if the prisoner would be willing to make a break for it with her.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s