For theatrical_muse #287 - Prison
No trial.
No judge and jury to decide his fate.
Simply a cold, dark, dank prison cell.
To begin with, Lucas paced round the cell he’d been thrown into. He’d been stripped of all his clothing, given non-descript replacements - tracksuit bottoms, a loose jumper, shoes that barely fit.
He paced, and waited. It would take a couple of days for Harry to realise that something had gone wrong, and work out what he was going to do about it. A few days, then he’d find out.
He paced, and waited.
The boredom didn’t take long to begin. It was too easy to lose track of all time in there. The cell didn’t have any windows, which made keeping track doubly difficult. Lucas quickly learned to gauge what time of day it was, based on routines. It gave him some semblance of order.
Still he paced, waiting to hear.
Thoughts of Elizabeta filled his days. What she would be thinking, what Harry would tell her, how much she missed him, the holiday they’d take when he got back... it all helped to focus his thoughts, keep hope alive. He wished now that he’d told her the whole truth, instead of the not-quite truths he had done. Maybe she’d understand anyway. Harry would tell her, it would all be alright. They loved each other, after all. Any secret was small in the face of love.
Still he paced, determined not to be still. Being still involved giving in, the abandoning of hope, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
And then, one day, about two weeks after he was first captured, he was transferred to Lefortovo prison. Infamously run by the FSB. And Lucas quickly learned that there were far worse things than the boredom he was going to have to deal with.
After that first day there, he learned new things. He learned that sometimes, being still was better than pacing about. It saved energy, helped you last through the day. Food and water was minimal, but the beatings weren’t. Energy was at a premium.
Fitting in was vital. Three weeks later he got his first tattoo - ‘Dum Spiro Spero’, or ‘While I live, I hope’. It became ridiculously important over the next few years, as he clung to that thought.
The alternative was to watch it wither away and die.
Lucas North
Spooks
Word Count 390
No judge and jury to decide his fate.
Simply a cold, dark, dank prison cell.
To begin with, Lucas paced round the cell he’d been thrown into. He’d been stripped of all his clothing, given non-descript replacements - tracksuit bottoms, a loose jumper, shoes that barely fit.
He paced, and waited. It would take a couple of days for Harry to realise that something had gone wrong, and work out what he was going to do about it. A few days, then he’d find out.
He paced, and waited.
The boredom didn’t take long to begin. It was too easy to lose track of all time in there. The cell didn’t have any windows, which made keeping track doubly difficult. Lucas quickly learned to gauge what time of day it was, based on routines. It gave him some semblance of order.
Still he paced, waiting to hear.
Thoughts of Elizabeta filled his days. What she would be thinking, what Harry would tell her, how much she missed him, the holiday they’d take when he got back... it all helped to focus his thoughts, keep hope alive. He wished now that he’d told her the whole truth, instead of the not-quite truths he had done. Maybe she’d understand anyway. Harry would tell her, it would all be alright. They loved each other, after all. Any secret was small in the face of love.
Still he paced, determined not to be still. Being still involved giving in, the abandoning of hope, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
And then, one day, about two weeks after he was first captured, he was transferred to Lefortovo prison. Infamously run by the FSB. And Lucas quickly learned that there were far worse things than the boredom he was going to have to deal with.
After that first day there, he learned new things. He learned that sometimes, being still was better than pacing about. It saved energy, helped you last through the day. Food and water was minimal, but the beatings weren’t. Energy was at a premium.
Fitting in was vital. Three weeks later he got his first tattoo - ‘Dum Spiro Spero’, or ‘While I live, I hope’. It became ridiculously important over the next few years, as he clung to that thought.
The alternative was to watch it wither away and die.
Lucas North
Spooks
Word Count 390