Imprisoned

• Kate Riethmuller, Grade 12, St Aidan's Anglican Girls School -
• Short Story
• 2018

Excellence Award in the 'Horizon of Dreams 2018' competition

It was the clang of metal that woke me. My head jolted upright, my body rigid with discomfort from hours of awkward posture. Thrusting my head forward to visually search for my feet, the throbbing ache in my neck propelled shards of acute pain straight to my tailbone. I wriggled my toes, alleviating my lack of sensation. The mixture of the smell of mould and body odour lingered in the deoxygenised air. I liked to observe the outside world, the miserable overcast sky overflowing with tears, releasing its precipitation. I’d imagine myself behaving marvellously foolishly, shattering glass puddles. Alas, the outside world would have to wait, as my insides moaned and I could feel my stomach begin to erode. It felt like days since I had last eaten, and already I could sense the absence of nutrition was affecting my clarity of mind. All I could do was sit and wait, because the life of a rule bender was not one of freedom.
I would look about the cell, at the breathing statues, wrapped in tattered, holey blankets, wishing the hours away. The jaded expressions on the faces of those around me were overbearing. Echoes of muffled prison guard footsteps bouncing down the corridor prompted my stomach to contaminate my throat and the back of my tongue with the sickening burn of starvation. My eyes glossed over as the thought of sustenance swamped my senses, deteriorating my limbs and weakening my concentration. The opportunity to once again feel the rush of sweet liquid down my oesophagus and the satiated sensation of consuming a meal, was irresistible. This was my life, because I was a rule bender.
I never understood one’s desire to please society. Reflecting on my childhood, my parents never expressed pride in anything I did, which was probably part the reason I ended up in this dark, torturous cell. Glancing out the window, the vibrant, scarlet, blooming bottle brush flower that danced about in the miserable cold wind gave me faith that the outside world would continue its existence until I could join it. Until then, my only escape was the renowned ‘bathroom break’.
The droning ticking sound of the wall clock’s second hand matched my disappointed heartbeat. It felt as though the class had lasted for hours, and it was only midday. I scratched at my desk covered in liquid paper, ink and chewing gum on the underside. I could only fall asleep so many times before I was no more tired than I was overjoyed to be trapped in a classroom for hours on end. The life of a rule bender was far from glamorous.
The anticipated and familiar tapping of men’s brown dress shoes grew louder as they neared the classroom door from outside. The handle quaked, then turned. The wooden door whined open, and in waltzed our prison guard, Mr Hooper. He paraded powerfully across to his desk at the front of the room and announced haughtily, “Lunchtime detention is concluded.”