“Two Hundred and Forty-Seven Days”

Author’s Note: This is a Take Ten to Write story and has not been proofread for errors. If I feel inspired or if there’s interest in the story, I’ll post a revised, edited, and extended version at a later date. Happy reading!

I scrape another line into the cold metal of my mug.

Two hundred and forty-seven days. That’s how long I’ve been imprisoned here.

Honestly, time seemed to pass much faster than I thought. I still can’t believe that I’ve been stuck here for almost a year. Okay, maybe not almost a year, but much longer than I’d anticipated being in an alien country, much less a prison.

The guard pounds on my door. I quickly stuff my mug back underneath my pillow. The door swings open and in walks Muff.

Immediately I relax. Muff’s one of the nicer guards. Nicer meaning that he knows about my day-counting mug and lets me keep it. Actually, he’s even brought it back to me a few times after it was confiscated. I guess that makes us friends?

“Morning,” he says gruffly, eyeing my pillow.

I sigh and take out my mug and show him the scratches along the surface.

“Two hundred and forty-seven,” I say. “I almost wish you guys had the death penalty around here.”

He stares at me, his face turning grey with confusion. “Why would we grant prisoners their deaths? That would relieve them from their suffering, and we certainly don’t want that.”

“You certainly don’t,” I grumble, setting my mug down on my cold, metal bed.

You might be sensing a pattern that everything in my tiny cell is cold and metal. Apparently, aliens don’t believe in fabric bed sheets, or fabric of any kind actually. Yep, even my pillow is cold, hard metal. And I’ve got to say, you never get used to it. Never.

Muff sighs and his face turns back to its usual white. “Bed time,” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at the bed.

I stare at him with exasperation. “I’m already in bed.”

He huffs and his face begins turning a slight red. I hold up my hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I say, sliding down so that I’m lying with my head on my stupid metal pillow. “No need to get upset.”

Sure, Muff is generally one of the nicer guards, but he’s got one mean temper. I’ve learned to do exactly what I’m told and we seem to get along.

As he returns to a neutral white, he nods sharply before turning on his heel. Still, I hear him call a quiet, “Good night,” as he leaves.

Final Comments: I never realized that a picture of a mug could be so inspiring! Although I wish I could’ve expanded more on Muff’s appearance and alien features…

Overall Rating: 😄