Penitentiary for Violent Inhuman Offenders discussion

Aboveground > Guard Tower

Comments Showing 1-4 of 4 (4 new)    post a comment »
dateDown arrow    newest »

message 1: by KT (new)

KT (queenlykt) | 132 comments Mod

Rising from the center of the outdoor compound, the guard tower is an impressive sight. The top is covered with windows to see out of, and it's not uncommon to see snipers on the roof when the prisoners are especially uneasy. All levels except the very top and bottom contain guard barracks, which are almost as minimal as the prisoners'.

message 2: by [deleted user] (new)

This was how Cassandra came to work at one of the most isolated places on earth, trading her two bedrooms flat for a bunk bed on the attic floor of this guard tower. Mind you, Cassandra didn't feel a great deal about the prison either way, they were all sick, sick people in their own sickly way and sure one of the cooks made a mean Victoria sponge but Cassandra didn't really care. She accepted this job to start again from nasty life affairs that had given her the clap. Nothing wrong with her organs nor limbs, this was an emotional clap. She had to keep her heart to herself in case she infected somebody.

Then she met Clyde FitzAllan. Funny, he used his mother's maiden surname. Cassandra didn't know where the hell did he get the 'Clyde' one, though.

Cassandra had to lay a carpet in her new room just so she got a tiny sense of superiority and upper dignity comparing to the inmates. The administration people brought Clyde. He's the deputy guard. Of course, a man made of war as always. Didn't seem to die nor aging too, apparently. If Cassandra wasn't what she was, she would've screamed in confusion.

Now she just wanted to scream in betrayal. She didn't. It was a civilised if brutal arrangement.

They made a silent agreement to pretend like they didn't know each other. Like they didn't have unfinished business. Like they didn't know each other's backbones. Like they didn't remember everything. They, without even uttering any word, agreed that they were good for each other as co-workers now.

Yet, there were so many things they needed to talk about, and it angered Cassandra that while she thought she was alone, he was also had all this time doing and solving nothing. They had all the time until the end of stellar era of the universe and they solved nothing.

They agreed that they were good for each other like this, but the human inside Cassandra wanted some conclusion to their never-ending story, the long-overdue last chapter that had been put on hiatus for centuries. She knew it probably wouldn't be resolved in one sitting but tonight, she was going to be the one who grew a pair of balls and confronted the other.

So there she was, already past her own shift, on the top of the watchtower where only one Clyde FitzAllan remained for the night.

message 3: by [deleted user] (new)

I've come back forto him.

These were the words she wrote down in her journal when she spotted Clyde from the administration hallway of the tower. Did she know she'd find him here? Absolutely not. Yet, the universe worked in such a funny way she couldn't be absolutely sure that she wasn't here for him. Just for him. Not for the prison. Or the job, or the current country they served under, or for the view of the mainland far away with its alienating glimmer where she used to sit alone in the abandoned chapel near the sea, wondering why she was the unhappiest person on earth.

But if it was truly the case then perhaps she wasn't coming here just for him, but in a way coming back for the girl of that war she'd been centuries earlier: thought she knew she'd find neither one. The girl didn't change except that she grew her golden hair long, and as for him, he'd disappeared altogether and was never heard from again.

Clyde FitzAllan wasn't the man she left many moons ago. "Precise as always, aren't you, Jack?"

She commented on his response, why he bothered to be specific about her shift schedule was such his thing if Cassandra didn't know any better. She walked closer but kept her distance still from Clyde, she wasn't sure how to do it just yet. "Wait, no, you go by Clyde now." She corrected herself, a hint of sourness came off out it. "What kind of name is that?"

message 4: by [deleted user] (new)

This prelude and forethought wasn't unusual, coming from him, but to admit it was to cut through her one way out; the grand excuse of passion. He had no choice, neither did her, separately they were swept away. Forces took her and possessed him and they did everything but now that was all in the past, they couldn't understand, so and so. They wanted to start again, so and so. "I haven't been there for a very long time," She took quite some time to take a seat beside Clyde, they were both overseeing through the window and all they could see was darkness. Or to her, at least, vampire's eyes worked differently that almost human like her. "Even if I remember something, I'm sure the imagery isn't accurate."

Then, silence. Yes, they did like to pass the day in serious and inconsequential chatter. She wouldn't mind him mentioning something that tied them to the past. The past was the long gone and she hardly thought of Shrewsburry anymore. Well, sometimes she thought about her family that slayed in that battle but her memory surpassed that, long way back to when everything was good and her reminiscence lingered there, she didn't want to lose that happy space where she had found people who were smart and easy in their complexity.

She had been struggling since then, let's be honest. She told herself these things and these things were the solid pavement beneath her feet. Everything was once in its place; the lover, the friend, the life, the set. By running away, or perhaps by being more than what they should've been, she had altered her world and his world forever. That the territory she thought was hers had been annexed.

But John. Or Clyde, he never gave away his heart; he lend it from time to time, didn't he? If it were not so, how could he took it back without asking?

She welcomed the quiet hour of late night. No one would disturb them, and they could continue their morning with their facade. She could've make smoky tea (for herself, he didn't drink that kind of stuff anymore) and sat next to him like this and hope that the wisdom of objects would make some difference to her. Here, surrounded by tables, chairs, equipment, a locker full of weapon behind, books, she would've surely saw the need to stay in one place. She had been an emotional nomad for too long. Her careful well-earned life meant nothing. The clock was broken. Hadn't she come here weary to put a fence round the space Clyde now threatened?

Did he, somehow, feel the same way? If he was into telling the truth. "How did you manage to hide in plain sight in one country for so long?" Addition: how long before the shouting starts? How long before the tears and accusations and the pain? That specific stone in the stomach pain when you lose something you haven't got round to valuing - again? Why is the measure of love loss?

back to top