Chapter 18, A Painting for a Friend

Chapter 18, A Painting for a Friend

At first, Gerald was really not in the mood to get up at five, one and a half hours before the regular time, but when he saw the reason why, he had to change his attitude. Ever since before lunch when Kreig left him in a stupor, hed been a sort of zombie. He ate, he walked around, but that was about it. When he got back to his cell by 7, hed gone straight to bed, something his bunkmate found delightful.

And now he had to wake up at 5. Why? Because a guard was at his cell, holding a large packet wrapped in brown paper, nudging it at him through the bars.

Gerald accepted it not because he was awake enough to, but out of muscle memory.

He looked at the packet, rubbed his eyes sore, and looked back up at the guard, who hadnt left yet. The guard looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't. Gerald was too tired to react with anything except involuntary paralysis. The guard did not leave, simply remaining where he stood, staring at Gerald and his brown package.

Is this, um, for me? Gerald asked, sliding his fingers along the edge of the package. It was large and rectangular, a bit soft to the touch, neither fragile nor robust.

The guard nodded. !&, %) ?=+#@/ Kreig. The language the guard spoke was known colloquially by the prisoners as Language of Mould, though the real name, as few men told Gerald, was English. Nobody knew why most guards spoke it, but usually, they refrained, since most of the prisoners reacted harshly to the mere sound. Gerald had never heard the language from anyone who wasnt from this world (apart from maybe War), so he held no negative connotations towards the language itself. But what he did recognize was the name used.

From War?... Gerald muttered, glancing down at the package in his hands. As far as he knew, prisoners werent allowed to trade anything, including gifts. That posed the question, who in the world was War and why in the world was he given a present from him?

Might it have to do with what happened earlier that-, no, yesterday?

...Maybe so. Such a strange situation Gerald couldnt remember ever acting like that before. Sobbing and weeping and wailing his eyes out in the arms of another man A man who happened to be War himself. It felt silly afterwards, but in the moment, when it happened it felt good. He didnt regret it, and now that he thought about it, he didnt feel like death was his best solution anymore. Sure, it was tempting, but A child didnt necessarily have to return home from war in a casket.

Then, he held out his hand. Gerald looked at the hand, and looked at his painting. The hand made a give it here motion and Gerald relented, placing the noble luxury in the mans hand.

It was mounted on the wall. Like it had always been supposed to be there. Even though it looked much too beautiful for the cold barren walls of the cell, Gerald couldnt bring himself to object.

The guard made to leave, but Gerald grabbed his arm as he went. Their eyes met, and although Gerald had no idea if his words would go through, he said it again. Id like to meet War. It was a weak request, he knew that. Silly, even. In all honesty, he had no real idea of why he wanted to do it at all. But, somehow, he knew it was right. He had to talk to War, assert what their relationship actually was, and doing it in the cafeteria or the courtyard would be far too public.

The guard stared at him. Gerald repeated himself. Id like to-,

&%)/, &&/&(# !##%, the guard said, holding up his hand, a gesture clearly urging Gerald to silence. As prompted, Gerald kept his mouth shut for a moment while the Guard removed a rectangular artefact from within his pocket. At his touch, the artefact lit up, and with a few movements of the guards hand, the screen moved. It turned blue-and-white. =++(#, &/(. With that said, the guard made a rolling motion with his hand, non-verbally telling Gerald to say it again.

...Id like to see him. The artefact made a few sounds and the guard turned to it, watching as text appeared on the screen. In the upper box, what Gerald had just said was written, and in the bottom box, he could see a line of equal length in what he presumed to be English.

The guard froze in place. Turned to look at the painting. Back to Gerald. Finished the movement with a conflicted expression. Then, he stepped out of the cell, fiddled a bit with the rectangular artefact, and brought it to his ear. What followed was one of the strangest things Gerald had ever witnessed, namely a man talking into what seemed to be thin air. It must have been some form of magic, though Gerald had never seen either of the two magicians in his platoon use any such magic

The air-conversation spanned about five minutes which the guard spent alternating between submission and defiant pride. In the end, he removed the artefact from his ear, pressed a button on it, sighed deeply and placed it in his pocket.

And turned to Gerald. Apparently, since he reluctantly opened the cell door and gestured for Gerald to exit, the upper echelon must have given the green light.This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com