Somewhere_
i don't know where
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- Seen Jun 5, 2019
Hello! I am pretty new to this section of the forum, but I enjoy creative writing. Last year I wrote a short story (here) and quite a few poems. My usual writing consists of essays rather than storytelling, so I do not believe this story reflects my potential as a writer. In addition, I believe my writing has greatly improved recently, and as a result, I fear this story has subpar vocabulary and stylistic elements. Nevertheless, I recall being proud of this when I finished and receiving a good grade on the assignment (which did give me unwanted limitations).
I have separated the story into six short chapters and did my best to adjust the format to this medium. No worries- it is not a dense or lengthy read. I have also been debating on a name, so I just arbitrarily decided on the name "Hope." I welcome any criticism, and in fact, I encourage it! I pursue improved writing skills!
Enjoy!
Hope
Prologue
I. Prison
II. New Roommate
III. Writing on the Floor
IV. The Crime
Alternative Ending
I have separated the story into six short chapters and did my best to adjust the format to this medium. No worries- it is not a dense or lengthy read. I have also been debating on a name, so I just arbitrarily decided on the name "Hope." I welcome any criticism, and in fact, I encourage it! I pursue improved writing skills!
Enjoy!
Hope
Prologue
Spoiler:
Suddenly, I am in a prison cell and I look at my hanging dead body in confusion, and back away from the cell door as the prison guards storm in wearing faces of disgust. The guards walk forward- right through me- and stare at my swaying body hanging by bed sheets under the barred window. I thought I died when I killed myself… "Another suicide -- I'll go call for the warden," says one guard, and the other guard nods. As the guard walks away, I give chase, but somehow, I cannot leave the prison cell. I feel almost like I am everywhere in the room, stretching from the back wall to the front wall with the door- an omnipresent feeling.
I. Prison
Spoiler:
I have been stuck in prison for the past ten years since my death, never able to move outside the room -- located in the farthest cell down the hallway, cellblock 1-19, where only the worst of humanity is kept. This is the room where the mold builds up and the darkness collects. There is a single cot on right-hand side of the room and a toilet and sink on the left, closer to the heavy cell door. The most interesting detail is the ants crawling through the holes and cracks in the cement bricks. Nothing changes- except when an inmate leaves after years of imprisonment (most likely to be executed). The inmates never know I am here with them. I will be stuck in this never-changing, solitary cell for the rest of my life- hearing the clanging of the flap over the slit where food comes in three times a day, watching the ants mob over leftover crumbs, and witness the ever-so-slow growth of the sad mold and mildew. Only the constant dripping of water droplets from the ceiling remind me of the outside world. The water reminds me of my former life, as a free individual. Even the ants are free despite coming in and out of the cellblock. After years of pondering my fateful existence here, I have come to the conclusion that I deserve this punishment, as inconvenient as it is.
II. New Roommate
Spoiler:
I hear the shuffling of feet and muffled voices coming from the long hallway. The heavy cell door slowly creaks open with dust falling from the crack between the wall and top of the door. The guards, with their bold black uniforms, take out a gun and pistol-whip a man, pushing him into my grey cell. The man's glasses fly to the back. "Smart ass!" yells the shorter guard to the left. Surprisingly, the man is silent despite the abuse as the guards slam the door shut and briskly walk away down the dark hallway. I almost envy the man because I have not felt any physical sensation since my death, even if it would be painful like this. I wish I could taste the feeling of exertion and movement, which my existence as ghost is severely lacking. At least I think I would be considered a ghost.
I still cannot see my new friend's face, but he is skinny with somewhat long blond hair in an almost bowl-like hairstyle. It has been a few minutes since the incident and he still has not sat up- I think he is out cold from the guards' rough behavior. I have never liked those two guards because they are always condescending and over-the-top, like they think they are in a movie or something. I view them, not as the cool duo, but the jerks that always ironically die at the end of movies. Maybe someday I will have the pleasure of dying.
The man grunts as he gruelingly pushes himself up with his fists. He looks up straight in my direction and squints, as if he sees something, but he does not remain entertained and turns to grab his glasses. His body loses balance, and he falls face-first into the hard concrete. He worms his body towards his glasses, reaching his arm out and stretching to finally grab his glasses by the frames, which are surprisingly unscathed. The glasses slide onto his face perfectly as the man sits up and leans against the metal frame of the cot. His legs are out, pointing across the cell. I follow his gaze to see him staring at the lonely toilet on the left side of the room. Next his eyes look up and right to the tiny window with three steel bars -- it is tiny because the room is partially underground and the bottom of the window lines up with the dirt on the outside. He takes in a deep breath, hoping to take in the smell of the overgrown grass and soon learns the only smell available is the moldy and stale air, something I realized years ago. No rush of wind or whiff of flowers ever makes it to this room.
Every day he just sits in the same spot, only moving to grab the food that slides through the slit in the door, to sleep in the cot, or to use the toilet. He repeats the same actions day in and day out at the exact same time. When he wakes up in the morning, he methodically turns and steps to the toilet, after which he makes his bed. During every meal, he always sets down his tray beside him when he has finished his meal, with the plastic eating utensils and plates neatly organized on the try. The man always eats all of his food, but chews slowly as if he is in deep thought. Right at lights-off time, he lifts the sheet and blanket and slips into bed, always sleeping with the back of his head on the pillow and never on his side.
I still cannot see my new friend's face, but he is skinny with somewhat long blond hair in an almost bowl-like hairstyle. It has been a few minutes since the incident and he still has not sat up- I think he is out cold from the guards' rough behavior. I have never liked those two guards because they are always condescending and over-the-top, like they think they are in a movie or something. I view them, not as the cool duo, but the jerks that always ironically die at the end of movies. Maybe someday I will have the pleasure of dying.
The man grunts as he gruelingly pushes himself up with his fists. He looks up straight in my direction and squints, as if he sees something, but he does not remain entertained and turns to grab his glasses. His body loses balance, and he falls face-first into the hard concrete. He worms his body towards his glasses, reaching his arm out and stretching to finally grab his glasses by the frames, which are surprisingly unscathed. The glasses slide onto his face perfectly as the man sits up and leans against the metal frame of the cot. His legs are out, pointing across the cell. I follow his gaze to see him staring at the lonely toilet on the left side of the room. Next his eyes look up and right to the tiny window with three steel bars -- it is tiny because the room is partially underground and the bottom of the window lines up with the dirt on the outside. He takes in a deep breath, hoping to take in the smell of the overgrown grass and soon learns the only smell available is the moldy and stale air, something I realized years ago. No rush of wind or whiff of flowers ever makes it to this room.
Every day he just sits in the same spot, only moving to grab the food that slides through the slit in the door, to sleep in the cot, or to use the toilet. He repeats the same actions day in and day out at the exact same time. When he wakes up in the morning, he methodically turns and steps to the toilet, after which he makes his bed. During every meal, he always sets down his tray beside him when he has finished his meal, with the plastic eating utensils and plates neatly organized on the try. The man always eats all of his food, but chews slowly as if he is in deep thought. Right at lights-off time, he lifts the sheet and blanket and slips into bed, always sleeping with the back of his head on the pillow and never on his side.
III. Writing on the Floor
Spoiler:
It has been about two weeks, and stubble has finally grown on his face. The odd man is not very hairy at all. However, despite this period of time, I still have not figured out his crime, or anything about him at all because he seems totally stoic and emotionless. Usually inmates stomp around for a week or so, then sit and think after the occasional punch to the wall. Sometimes, like the last inmate, they savagely assault the prison guards. A month in and they have usually accepted their crime and fate, but never has anyone acted like my new roommate.
"I have been thinking… why have you been watching me?" says a calm and monotone, but young-sounding voice. My roommate is looking straight at me. Finally I can tell what age he exactly is -- he is definitely in his late teens and not in his early twenties, most likely eighteen or nineteen. This is the first time anyone has ever spoken to me since the day I committed suicide. Inmates have spoken to themselves, but never to me. In fact, no one has ever even been aware of me (not even the security guards).
"I have a life sentence and I am very patient, so you can wait to respond." I do not know how to react. As far as I know, I cannot communicate in any way. Then again, I have only tried speaking, but no one can hear me. Or they are simply ignoring my yells, but this is irrational – who would ever just ignore a ghost attempting to speak to them? My only senses are sight, hearing, and smelling. The pile of ants below me begin to move as one.
"I have a list of questions to ask you. Would you like me to say them or etch them into the wall? I smuggled in a sharp stone. Those security guards are incredibly dumb." The ants, now in a line, march from my corner (back left) to the center of the room. I enjoy watching the ants, especially when there is no inmate with me.
Suddenly there is the jingling of keys and guards come in to grab my new roommate. I wonder if he is going to get executed, but he said he has a life sentence. I guess he may be doing some work project like street cleaning, but to be in this cell, he must have done something really bad, so I doubt that.
Soon enough I hear footsteps and an angry voice saying something that sounds like "smart ass." The door opens with the blond man sneering and the guards shoving him to back into my jail cell. He laughs and exclaims, "Those guards made another mistake. They must be the dumbest mongrels on..." My cellmate cuts his sentence short as he throws his back against the metal door. With a frantic look in his eyes, he stands in awe.
This is the first time I have seen him display any sort of emotion, but I look over on the ground to see the ants in a shape. The ants spell "HELLO" and reshape to form "MY-NAME." His jaw drops, but his face changes from surprise to excitement as the ants spell "IS-NICOLAS." His face shifts back to his emotionless self as he responds, "My name is Luke. Nice to meet you."
"I have been thinking… why have you been watching me?" says a calm and monotone, but young-sounding voice. My roommate is looking straight at me. Finally I can tell what age he exactly is -- he is definitely in his late teens and not in his early twenties, most likely eighteen or nineteen. This is the first time anyone has ever spoken to me since the day I committed suicide. Inmates have spoken to themselves, but never to me. In fact, no one has ever even been aware of me (not even the security guards).
"I have a life sentence and I am very patient, so you can wait to respond." I do not know how to react. As far as I know, I cannot communicate in any way. Then again, I have only tried speaking, but no one can hear me. Or they are simply ignoring my yells, but this is irrational – who would ever just ignore a ghost attempting to speak to them? My only senses are sight, hearing, and smelling. The pile of ants below me begin to move as one.
"I have a list of questions to ask you. Would you like me to say them or etch them into the wall? I smuggled in a sharp stone. Those security guards are incredibly dumb." The ants, now in a line, march from my corner (back left) to the center of the room. I enjoy watching the ants, especially when there is no inmate with me.
Suddenly there is the jingling of keys and guards come in to grab my new roommate. I wonder if he is going to get executed, but he said he has a life sentence. I guess he may be doing some work project like street cleaning, but to be in this cell, he must have done something really bad, so I doubt that.
Soon enough I hear footsteps and an angry voice saying something that sounds like "smart ass." The door opens with the blond man sneering and the guards shoving him to back into my jail cell. He laughs and exclaims, "Those guards made another mistake. They must be the dumbest mongrels on..." My cellmate cuts his sentence short as he throws his back against the metal door. With a frantic look in his eyes, he stands in awe.
This is the first time I have seen him display any sort of emotion, but I look over on the ground to see the ants in a shape. The ants spell "HELLO" and reshape to form "MY-NAME." His jaw drops, but his face changes from surprise to excitement as the ants spell "IS-NICOLAS." His face shifts back to his emotionless self as he responds, "My name is Luke. Nice to meet you."
IV. The Crime
Spoiler:
I am ecstatic- never have I ever been able to communicate with anyone since my death. However, I do not understand this phenomenon because, somehow, it feels out of my control. "How do you exist?" asks Luke, who appears to have calmed down since the guards first left, "non-material beings cannot exist. I guess there is no use in refuting this empirical evidence that ghosts or something of the sort – whatever you are – do exist." The ants spell out "WHAT-DID-YOU-DO?"
Luke, taking a deep breath, begins to explain his story; "I was a lab assistant at the local university for my professor, who was researching lung cancer. After the professor would leave for the day, I would clean up and shut down the laboratory for him, as well as make any preparations for the next days' work. However, in reality, I was also slowly stealing lab materials and bringing them home. At home, after my studies, I began to concoct a gas to cure the patients without the professor's knowledge. After reproducing the gas, as part of experiments, I would have the patients breath in the gas when the patients would wait for the professor to call them into his room. In just a few short weeks of biweekly intake of the gas, the patients' lungs had completely collapsed, and the night that each died, it took many hours of heart-wrenching pain and coughing blood all over before he or she would die. In total, probably around thirty patients died, but it was for a good cause- if I had more time, I would have saved more people with my gas. I am lucky to have a good lawyer so I could avoid the death penalty. Regardless, I assume your crime is worse than mine to receive this kind of punishment."
"I-BETRAYED-MY-FAMILY"
"I-WAS-FALSELY-ACCUSED-OF-MURDER-AND-PLACED-IN-HERE"
"IN-HOPELESSNESS-I-HUNG-MYSELF-WITH-A-ROPE"
"JUST-BEFORE-THE-GUARDS-CAME-IN-TO-LET-ME-FREE"
"I-LEFT-MY-FAMILY-ALONE"
"MY-KIDS-WITHOUT-A-FATHER"
Luke takes a deep long breath, almost like a sigh, before replying: "That is unfortunate." I am not surprised at his remark- being as emotionless as he is, Luke would also not be empathetic. However, despite this shortcoming, for the first time in ten years I can relay my sentiments to someone else. It is almost like I am reminded of being human again because for the longest time I have just been… there- an insignificant observer. I think I am experiencing joy. The ants rush to form another sentence in a very orderly fashion, like they are following a master architect. They are surprisingly quick, and only in a few moments, spell:
"WOULD-YOU-CHANGE-YOUR-ACTIONS-IF-YOU-HAD-THE-CHANCE?"
Luke responds, "I do not regret administering the gas to the patients because he few deaths would be far outweighed by the greater number of lives saved. Had I gotten the chance, I would have worked to improve the concoction to actually work. How about you?"
As the ants begin shifting around the cement floor, I hear faint laughter and footsteps growing more and more quiet. I wonder who was just outside our cell.
"VERY-MUCH-SO"
"I-COULD-HAVE-FINISHED-RAISING-MY-KIDS"
"BUT-NOW-I-CANNOT-SEE-THEM-EVER-AGAIN"
"I-WISH"
With a loud thud, the door swings open and the two guards storm into the cellblock. They carry grins on their faces and cover their noses with hand towels. Using their other hand, both lifted large cans and spray. A cloud of gas blankets the floor as the ants scurry for cover to no avail. This is the end of my humanity.
Luke, taking a deep breath, begins to explain his story; "I was a lab assistant at the local university for my professor, who was researching lung cancer. After the professor would leave for the day, I would clean up and shut down the laboratory for him, as well as make any preparations for the next days' work. However, in reality, I was also slowly stealing lab materials and bringing them home. At home, after my studies, I began to concoct a gas to cure the patients without the professor's knowledge. After reproducing the gas, as part of experiments, I would have the patients breath in the gas when the patients would wait for the professor to call them into his room. In just a few short weeks of biweekly intake of the gas, the patients' lungs had completely collapsed, and the night that each died, it took many hours of heart-wrenching pain and coughing blood all over before he or she would die. In total, probably around thirty patients died, but it was for a good cause- if I had more time, I would have saved more people with my gas. I am lucky to have a good lawyer so I could avoid the death penalty. Regardless, I assume your crime is worse than mine to receive this kind of punishment."
"I-BETRAYED-MY-FAMILY"
"I-WAS-FALSELY-ACCUSED-OF-MURDER-AND-PLACED-IN-HERE"
"IN-HOPELESSNESS-I-HUNG-MYSELF-WITH-A-ROPE"
"JUST-BEFORE-THE-GUARDS-CAME-IN-TO-LET-ME-FREE"
"I-LEFT-MY-FAMILY-ALONE"
"MY-KIDS-WITHOUT-A-FATHER"
Luke takes a deep long breath, almost like a sigh, before replying: "That is unfortunate." I am not surprised at his remark- being as emotionless as he is, Luke would also not be empathetic. However, despite this shortcoming, for the first time in ten years I can relay my sentiments to someone else. It is almost like I am reminded of being human again because for the longest time I have just been… there- an insignificant observer. I think I am experiencing joy. The ants rush to form another sentence in a very orderly fashion, like they are following a master architect. They are surprisingly quick, and only in a few moments, spell:
"WOULD-YOU-CHANGE-YOUR-ACTIONS-IF-YOU-HAD-THE-CHANCE?"
Luke responds, "I do not regret administering the gas to the patients because he few deaths would be far outweighed by the greater number of lives saved. Had I gotten the chance, I would have worked to improve the concoction to actually work. How about you?"
As the ants begin shifting around the cement floor, I hear faint laughter and footsteps growing more and more quiet. I wonder who was just outside our cell.
"VERY-MUCH-SO"
"I-COULD-HAVE-FINISHED-RAISING-MY-KIDS"
"BUT-NOW-I-CANNOT-SEE-THEM-EVER-AGAIN"
"I-WISH"
With a loud thud, the door swings open and the two guards storm into the cellblock. They carry grins on their faces and cover their noses with hand towels. Using their other hand, both lifted large cans and spray. A cloud of gas blankets the floor as the ants scurry for cover to no avail. This is the end of my humanity.
Alternative Ending
Spoiler:
With a loud thud, the door swings open and the two guards storm into the cellblock. They carry grins on their faces and cover their noses with hand towels. Using their other hand, both lifted large cans and spray. A cloud of gas blankets the floor as the ants scurry for cover to no avail. This is the end of my humanity.
There are always other ants.
There are always other ants.
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