THE PRISONER

The walls of the cell were covered in some sort of slime… what it was Dr Webster didn’t want to think what it was and lay back on the hard surface what could be described as the cell’s bed. A thick hessian sheet doubled up as a blanket and there was a bowl of water and a cup on a rickety table. The cell was quite dank and dingy, clearly an immediate attempt at psychological warfare on behalf of his gaolers. It was surprisingly quite, he was half expect the groans on fellow prisoners to echo down the corridor, the fact there wasn’t any lead the good to two conclusions: there weren’t any other prisoners or they had been doped up to avoid trouble. Even so, you’d expect there to be some sort of noise. The silence was broken by the heavy footed steps and the jangling of keys. A gaoler and associate entered his cell.

“Right who are you?” he spat in a vaguely Hispanic accent.

“I am a writer for the The Bad Prison Cell Guide,” said Dr Webster cheerfully. “You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t enjoyed my stay at all. I am going award the maximum rating of 5 out of 5 Slop Buckets.”

The gaoler didn’t react, not even an attempt to strike him for insolence.

“Oh that’s it,” concluded Dr Webster. “You’re going to nothing me to death.”

The Gaoler turned his back on him and gestured to his partner.

“I’ll save you time,” said Dr Webster. “My name is Doctor Benjamin Webster. I am a British Citizen who was assigned to help with the humanitarian crisis and I got caught in a skirmish as my group tried to leave. I got cut off and I don’t know if they made it or not.”

“Doctor,” the gaoler finally said “You are a doctor.”

“Yes.”

He turned, a grin plastered across his face. “Well we need a doctor for our men. You will have every liberty but liberty itself.”

 

In response to Fandango’s One Word Challenge: Dingy

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