Durance Vile
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2024 by Walter Reimer

Prompt: prison

“I am here to see the prisoner,” the Colonel said to the junior officer at the front desk. He said it in an officious and slightly arrogant voice.

The scrawny bear behind the desk set aside the copy of Harlot Legion of Algiers he had been reading and squinted up at the visitor. Thanks to the harsh desert sunlight streaming through the door, the senior officer’s features were indistinct shadows. The light glinted off the insignia on his shoulders, though. “Identification and authorization, please?” the bear asked, the slight inflection at the end indicating that he hadn’t meant it to be a question at first.

The silhouette held out his identity card and a folded piece of paper. The bear took them – ah, okay, the visitor was a coyote – and read the authorizing letter from the Provisional Government. After studying both for a moment, he copied the information down on the logbook in his tablet computer before giving the documents back to the Colonel. “Door on the left and down the stairs, Sir,” the lieutenant said, tapping in the code that unlocked the door.

“Thank you,” the coyote said unnecessarily, and he stepped into the facility.

The bear’s instructions had been largely superfluous. There had been only one door in the front office apart from the entrance, and the stairs only led downward. They were well-lit, though, and the air was cooler than the desiccating heat outside.

There was a checkpoint at every level, and he was passed through without demur at each one until he reached Level Ten.

“Colonel Britt, to see the prisoner,” the coyote said to the level’s guard sergeant, and waited while the coyote perused his documents. The desk bore a computer monitor that was subdivided into a dozen separate screens. Eleven of them showed interior views of the cell, with the final one showing the two coyotes at the entrance.

“Do you have any weapons, Sir?” the sergeant asked.

“No.” He’d been warned ahead of time but trusted in his martial arts skills if attacked.

“Thank you, Sir.” The sergeant pressed a button on his intercom.

“Yes?” came a voice.

“Someone to see you.”

“Ah. Do let him in, please.” The sergeant typed in an access code, and the door unlocked.

The Colonel nodded to the sergeant and went inside, closing the door behind him. The locks engaged with a series of clicks.

For a prison cell, it was remarkably like a fashionable apartment in the capital apart from the lack of windows. The furniture was comfortable, everything was well-maintained, and the large-screen television in the living area was showing a talk show.

The sound was muted.

“Just a moment,” came a voice, and there was the sound of a toilet flushing. Presently a stocky lion stepped into the room, tying a heavy bathrobe around his waist and over his red silk pajamas. “Good, well, morning,” he said cheerfully. “It is morning, isn’t it?”

“Ten-fifteen,” the coyote replied. “Very sunny.”

“Probably quite hot already,” the lion mused. He sat down on a leather recliner and waved at the sofa. “Have a seat, Colonel, and tell me why you’re here.”

The coyote sat. “I am here on the orders of the Provisional Government.”

“I gathered that. They’re the only ones allowed to authorize a visit.”

“Several members expressed a desire to see how you are bearing your imprisonment.”

The lion cocked an eyebrow and an ear at that. “Finally decided to have me executed?”

The coyote’s lips quirked in a smile. “You know the answer to that. Killing you would create a martyr.”

“That’s true,” the lion said with a nod. “And of course, they can’t have me merely getting sick and dying, or committing suicide.” He glanced around his spacious one-bedroom apartment. “Hence my present accommodations.”

“Which has become quite expensive,” the Colonel said.

That earned the officer a chuckle. “Seriously? This entire facility was built to house me, and now they’re worried about the expense?”

The coyote was aware of the cameras and recording devices that had been built into the room as he judged his words carefully. “There is talk about releasing you.”

“Releasing me?”

“And exiling you. For life.”

The lion leaned back in his recliner, his tufted tail twitching as he gazed up at the ceiling. “So, the Provisional Government, to save money, wants me to exchange this prison for a more spacious one. Where I will be penniless, alienated from the society, and unable to speak the language of my birth.”

“Yes,” the coyote said simply.

“Stone walls do not a prison make, / Nor iron bars a cage,” the lion murmured. “The Government realizes, do they not, that even in exile I will not remain silent.”

“They’re willing to take that risk.”

“At least as long as it takes for me to die in a convenient ‘accident,’” the lion amended, making ‘air quotes’ with his fingers. He didn’t stop gazing up at the ceiling, and finally sighed. “Still, it would be nice to see the sky again, after ten years in this plush and padded hole.” He sat up. “What are the Government’s conditions?”

“That you release a statement.”

“Saying what?”

“That you have been treated well, and that while in exile you do not write or say anything critical of the Government.”

The lion chuckled. “The first is easy. I have been treated well, far better than any of my compatriots have been. And, I am certain, that those of my compatriots that are still alive in your other prisons are hostages against my good behavior.” His smile broadened at the coyote’s embarrassed, albeit momentary, dip of his ears. “I see.”

“Will you accept the Government’s terms?”

The lion regarded him for a long moment. “Tell them I’ll think about it,” and he leaned back in his recliner again.

The Colonel gave a soft growl at the implication that he was being dismissed like some cub, but he restrained himself from saying or doing anything apart from getting to his feet and walking back to the only door. He was identified and was about to walk out when the lion said, “Colonel.”

He paused. “Yes?”

“They will have my response in five days.”

The coyote acknowledged the lion with a nod and left the cell.

The lion, the only occupant of a prison built specially for him, laced his fingers together and placed them on his belly as he closed his eyes, thinking about the offer and its conditions.




end