The door hasn’t opened in a year.
A guard slides a tray through the hatch in the door once a day. The prisoner eats, then slides it back out. It’s been months since a guard has needed to remind him to return the tray. Months since he’s heard a single word spoken aloud.
He’s eaten every meal. It’s enough food to keep him alive. Not healthy, but alive. He’s thin and malnourished, ribs visible through his skin. He’s always hungry, stomach always pained and angry – but he hasn’t starved to death.
The single chain around his left ankle keeps him tethered to the floor, giving him just wide enough of a radius to reach the door. He can pace a circle around the cell, for exercise – doesn’t do it much anymore, but he can.
There are no windows. His skin is pale, deprived of sun and light and touch and warmth.
The door hasn’t opened in a year, and it must have been exactly a year, because it opens today.
His nightmare steps inside.
“Hello again. Nice to see you still alive.”
“We had a deal, I’m sure you remember. You made a choice, and as promised, on its anniversary, I’m here to offer you another one.”
She looks him in the eyes.
“Are you ready to leave this cell?”
He only stares straight ahead, unmoving.
“I’ve heard you have quite the appetite. Surely you must want to live. And this–” she gestures around at the harsh, cold walls of the cell “–this isn’t living.” She almost chuckles. “I can’t be worse than this, can I?”
“Do you think that there is another option? That someone is coming to save you?”
Minutes pass. He remains silent.
“I need an answer. A simple yes or no will suffice. Are you ready to leave this cell?” she repeats.
Something hardens in his face. He meets her eyes for the first time. And slowly, but forcefully, as if it takes every ounce of strength within him, he shakes his head no.
If she is surprised, she doesn’t show it.
“Very well,” she nods. “It’s your life, after all.”
The door slams shut for another year.
