Desolation

The huge concrete structure loomed before him…

It looked duller and more morose than it usually did in the dim twilight. Crows were raucously flying about, heralding the end of the day and settling themselves on the trees that lined the path. The setting sun coloured the sky in myriad hues. Some people saw a wonderful blend of all shades of red and orange. All he saw was the fading yellow glow and the melancholic blue of the evening sky mixing with one another - almost a dirty brown, if you will. The heat of the day clung on to the earth as if in a lover’s embrace, reluctant to let go.

He wearily turned his back to the building in front of him. It was one of those whose exact shape was indiscernible unless from far-off. Dragging his feet through the entrance, he began to absorb the sights and sounds of his surroundings. People moved about – some slowly, some hurriedly, a few others harriedly - each one bearing his own burden, immersed in it and not caring about anyone else’s. Amazing, he thought, how even though crammed together in this hellhole these people manage to live all alone in their private worlds.
He walked further and reached a fork. A decision was to be made. Left. Right. Straight ahead. Or the stairs. He weighed his options carefully. Go left you reach the drain. Take the right and you still reach the drain – a different one but a drain all the same. Move on ahead and you go straight into a downright mess. Take the stairs and you’ll go straight up. Such is life. What you may end up as is independent of what you chose, but there is always have a choice. Always.

He trudged his way up the dimly lit stairs. People still walked by him, uncaring and unresponsive to his presence. He began to get used to it. A steel grilled door restricted the inmates from using large open space just beyond it. The flimsy little chain and the rusty lock that held it in place seemed to mock at the will (or lack of it) of the people who walked by it every single day and yet did nothing about it.

As he walked along the corridor he saw the cells from up close for the first time, after a long time. Long rows of the cells - each one an exact and drearily accurate replica of each other. He was sure that the cells were overcrowded as in any prison. Overcrowded to the point of suffocation. The air hung heavy and hot within the building stifling his breath and making him uncomfortable. A bead of sweat began to break on his brow, followed by several others. The disjointed bits of conversation from the cells seemed to be getting louder than the thoughts in his mind. I am getting tired, he thought.

Braving the putrid stench he reached the single tap at the end of the corridor and turned it. The squeak-squeak of the tap drowned the other noises of the corridor and silenced the voices of discontent in his mind. Precisely two drops of water fell down on the muddy linoleum. The rest of the corridor was drowned the sound of air rushing out through the tap sounded like an ominous death-rattle.

He lips moved to form a sardonic smile (which was strange for that was no smiling matter) and chuckling he said aloud “Well what did I expect? They call this Block Seven after all…”