The Prisoner sits in the center of his Cell, looking up at the small brick-sized window. The warm smell of sunset fills the cell as it tries to escape the cool winds of dusk. The dying sun beams collapse after a long day, and after a few moments they fail to even make it through the window, leaving the Prisoner in darkness.
He runs his fingers along the cracks of the floor, tracing them. He pictures the rivers of his youth as he does, imagining that they are one of the plethora of rivers that run through the Green Sea. He smiles as he thinks about how both the rivers and these cracks resemble lightning bolts ripping through earth. The rivers were imperfect, wild in nature, tameable with skill, but eventually the tamers would die and the rivers would be free once again.
These cracks however felt intentional. Sterile. Final. Almost like a facsimile of emotion only meant to impart the feeling of dread. As if any damage he tried to do would eventually heal. They didn't feel real. The rivers of his memory were.
He thought about his family, his people. He wondered why there was nobody coming for him.
The torches in the hallway lit all at once and he heard footsteps approaching.
"Good evening," the Warden said, grabbing his small folding chair and table that was leaned up against the stone wall of the hallway. He sets it up outside the bars of the cell and starts unpacking a Dragonchess set. "The dragon-finches have come back, so I guess summer is now truly here. Did any come to visit?"
"No," the Prisoner responded as he looked at the small window he was alotted. "Only you."
"Ah, well... The tower can be a little imposing," the Warden said. "Funny that even in the Green Sea, where a tree could rival the size of a castle, that animals would turn away from constructed stone."
"They know it doesn't belong here," the Prisoner said, running his fingers along the stone rivers again. "It's unnatural."
"Maybe," the Warden pondered. "But the material is natural. It might be in an unnatural configuration, but what does a bird care if a pile of stone are shaped like spheres or a bricks?"
The Prisoner shrugged.
"Go figure it out," he said.
"Oh that's no fun. I know you're a Prisoner, but I thought you liked our conversations," the Warden said, spinning a piece in his hand. "I knew there would be some resentment between us, but it doesn't have to be that bad."
"I don't resent you," the Prisoner said. "Just because I'm in this cage, doesn't mean you're not in a cage also. You're sitting here playing chess with me, just as I am with you. A cage can be a room, a job, a city... Even Time can be a cage. We're stuck here together. It's just a matter of escaping."
"Hm," the Warden thought for a second. "How would one escape time, I wonder?"
"Maybe I'll let you know when I'm on the outside," the Prisoner said tracing a circle on the floor next to him. "Maybe I'll even visit to play chess through the bars of your cage."
The Warden finished setting up the chess pieces after reviewing a piece of parchment from his pocket. They were arranged not in their starting places, but as a game already being played.
"I believe it was your turn," the Warden said folding his arms. The Prisoner quickly glanced at the board.
"You've put my pieces in the wrong spot," he said. "I guess my last move put you in a bad position?"
The Warden stared at him for a few moments sternly, before smiling slightly.
"Ah, I thought I'd be able to fool you there," he said, as he rearranged some of the pieces and removed one of his. "Didn't think you'd remember."
Remember, the Prisoner thought as a pit deepened in his stomach. I just need to remember.
"Guess it's my move then," the Warden said sighing. "Going to have to think of another way."
The Prisoner moved to the bars and sat on the floor across from the Warden.
"Don't rush," the Prisoner said. "I've got all the time in the world."