Series: Behind Closed Doors 4

Solitary Confinement

The flash fiction piece that inspired this story is called, A Lot of Things. Although this piece stands well on its own, you may find it helpful to read that first.

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After three sleepless days and nights in holding, I am finally led to my cell. The door clangs shut behind me, and all I can think of is sleep.

Then it starts- the prison pipeline fires up. Voices echo through the vents, snaking between cells, bouncing off concrete walls. Arguments flare, muffled but urgent. The voices overlap, mocking, praising, questioning, threatening. They reach me like fragments of another world, a distorted choir I choose not to be a part of.

The sawdust filled mattress is unforgiving, the single woolen blanket thin, and the harsh synthetic overhead light flickers like the bulb is trying to burn out. I lie down anyway, willing my mind to surrender.

I twist beneath the cover, heart thrumming, and my own thoughts rise like tides. You could have left her. You could have walked away. Did she make it? Does it matter?

Night stretches long and unyielding. Every creak in the walls, every drip of the pipes, is magnified. The vent hums, and with it come the fractured voices still-

“…he thinks he’s a hero…”
 “…what a fool…”
 “…fuck that dude…”

I cover my head, trying to smother their voices, but the echoes burrow inside me, gnawing at my thoughts. My mind replays the scene in relentless loops- the feel of barbed wire slicing her skin, the gurgle emanating from her as I freed her throat, my body trembling as I covered her- protecting what was left of her from the dogs, praying first that she would live, and only then, that I hadn’t made a fatal mistake. Every detail, every sensation, plays out as if I am there again.

Minutes blur into hours, and the flickering of the fluorescent bulbs overhead becomes a pulse, synchronizing with my own racing heart.

The vents buzz. Voices blending into a tapestry of judgment and praise. Go to sleep already! I scream, but only inside my head.

I close my eyes. Not for sleep- there will be none- but to turn inward. To meet myself in this isolation, to bear witness to the choices I will allow to define me, even when the world will not.

And in the darkness, I begin to understand. My freedom, my justice, my worth- they exist only where I find them. As behind this door, in the marrow of my soul, I alone, am both judge and jury.

This is my contribution to Dan’s Thursday Doors.

This is part of a series of stand alone vignettes.. You may navigate all entries in the series by clicking on Behind Closed Doors tab in the Category drop down list.

47 thoughts on “Series: Behind Closed Doors 4”

  8. Such a powerful and deeply evocative piece! I admire how you blend the physical discomfort with the mental torment, creating a layered portrait of captivity.

    You’re just brilliant and I’m looking forward to reading more of your works, Violet💜

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