+JMJ+
(copyright Seven Kingdoms Publishing)
Note: The wolf has nothing to do with the story.
Writing Prompt: The air tasted like dust and her feet
were killing her.
Maybe some of you have suggestions for how #305 plans on escaping.
The dull drone of insect
like flies filled the air. Circles, or carnivorous flew overhead
screeching harshly. The sound of loud moans and wailing drifted
through the air, as the train intergalactic prisoners stumbled across
the sand and stone that made up the floor of the planet. The
Galatical Guards, slithered on all sides, carrying bomber guns in
their grey tentacled hands.
To prisoner #305, the air
tasted like and her feet were killing her. She could not believe that
she had made one wrong turn then ended up a prisoner several hundred
miles from her own planet. A prisoner of octopus aliens no less.
To prisoner #205, who was
chained in the second column, at #305's side, it was all a fresh
adventure. When you left home by the only available road, it was ten
to one that you would meat adventure. #205 smiled. He was not worried
that he was destined for the pit mines where he would be forced to
dig fire rocks until he died. No #205 knew, that life would only get
more interesting. He had no doubt that escape was just lurking out of
his reach.
To Prisoner #105 in the
last column, life had stopped. He was neither tired nor alert. He was
simply walking existence. Death had ready laid his cold fingers on
#105 and despair had entered his heart. He knew he would be trapped
forever in the black pits, with no light but the muggy fire from the
rocks. Fire that blinded you after a year.
“Move it you horrible
droppings of other planets!” one of the guards warbled. #205
shouted the words off into five different intergalactic languages.
The moans got louder. #305 straightened up and glared at #205.
“I don't think they wanted
to hear that!” she snapped in the common Skal language. The
prisoners who understood Skal nodded dismally in agreement.
“Despair!” #105 moaned
in high Bale, “We will be dead in no less time then you can think.”
“No one need despair!”
#205 replied in the same language with a quirky laugh, “Something
will turn up!” We got our life in our own hands. Believe in
yourself! Maybe you will get recalled.”
“Never!” #105 screamed,
“I'm doomed to die!”
“What does the freak say?”
#305 demanded sharply. #205 looked around and realized that no one
could understand High Bale.
“Aren't you all glad I
know so many languages?” he said in all five intergalactic
languages.
“Silence mutants. The
supreme lord of Dis has summoned you!” one of the guards warbled,
and cracked his whip. #205 ducked the lash and translated the words.
The other prisoners grew silent. No one knew who the Supreme Lord of
Dis was. They didn't even know where Dis was. But gossip had filled
the space stations for years with whispers about the arenas and
tortures constructed by the supreme lord.
“My feet hurt!” #305
snapped, “I don't have time to listen to horrors about some lord.
Supreme or otherwise. As far as I'm concerned, he is jolly mean to
make us walk across this rubbish desert!”
“Hush!” #105 moaned,
“You're going to get us all killed!”
“I think they already want
to kill us!” #205 said cheerfully, “But it really is a pity about
#305's feet. #305 glared angrily at him.
“I'm done!” she snapped,
“I'm leaving right now!”
“How can you do that
seeing that you're chained to the rest of us?” #205 asked.
“I have my ways!” #305
said mysteriously.
