Walls. Thick, dark, stone walls. Ben couldn’t recall how long he’d been here. There was nothing to help him keep track of time. He ran his hands over the walls again. No chinks, no loose stones, no cracks. No way to make a passage out, even to the next cell. The walls pressed down on him, stopping just short of crushing him to paste.
Ben couldn’t recall what he’d done to be placed in solitary. He missed his old cell, dangerous as it had been to be the lone ‘political’ among seasoned criminals. At least their leader Vlad, the terrifying Russian gangster, owed him a favour. Ben wasn’t sure how long that was good for, but he’d be safe for a while — if he ever got to return to that cell …
He wondered if his friends’ accommodations were any better. He hadn’t seen them since the trial, and they hadn’t had the chance to speak since the arrest … When had he last seen another person? Not even the guards who brought him food or escorted him to the bathroom.
Stone. Come on, who even built jails like these anymore? Ben recalled the news of a prison reform, not long before his arrest. They talked about ‘cost cutting’. But this? They might have saved on personnel, but all the real estate was a huge money sink. What a joke!
The tiny window set high in the door shone with pale electric light. The cell was shaped like a giant chimney, with a sort of skylight covered with a grate right at the top. It was too far up. Even the air escaped up, up and out, leaving Ben with nothing to breathe. The walls had no footholds, of course.
He braced his arms and legs awkwardly against opposite walls — he could barely reach both at once, small as the cell was — and climbed towards the light. His long-unused muscles gave up too soon. Ben landed with a thud.
*****
Every muscle was in agony. They were going to give out any moment. But this time, he had a long way to fall. Ben continued to inch his way up towards the light. The holes in the grate were bound to be too small to squeeze through. There were guard towers outside. But none of that mattered; he had to reach the air, to snatch one last breath.
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Finally, the grate was within reach. Ben started to squeeze through painfully, leaving fabric and skin on the metal; he was bleeding from a million places. He was stuck. With the last of his strength, he pushed himself through, scraping off more skin …
Ben looked around his spare bedsit. No cell. No guard towers. What?
Bits of the prison reform news came back. Something about neural implants … getting something from the convicted felon’s mind … They’d all thought it was ridiculous.
Had he been at home all this time? Nothing looked out of place. Well, someone had disabled the smart fridge, so now it just kept the food cold. His neuro-connector chip was down; his smart watch was missing … even the crappy antique laptop that barely worked was gone. It figured.
Some packaged dinner sat defrosting on the counter. Had he been feeding himself without realizing it? Did he go out shopping, too? Probably not. So someone delivered the food …
Did this mean the others were all in their homes, too? Ben stepped out the door. He probably had a tracker implanted, cameras in the flat; he didn’t care. Lucia was the obvious choice: her place was closest. He briefly glanced at the lift — no good, they all had cameras — and jogged down 11 flights of stairs.
The bus was out of question — all stops had cameras, too. It didn’t matter; the walk to Lucia’s block of flats took barely a quarter of an hour. Lucia — full of light, just like her name. Ben flew through the cold wind and drizzling rain, and felt alive.
*****
“Ben?! I … didn’t know we were allowed visitors.”
Lucia’s bruises were gone. How long had it been?
“Erm … yeah … How are you, Luce? … Umm … what’s your cell like?”
“Pretty much like this,” she swept an arm around with a slight smile. “All vines, braided into walls. Wasn’t your cell like this?”
“Er … no, nothing like this.”
“You know, I was afraid of being strangled by them at first, but they’re not … Actually, it’s very … therapeutic. Living green walls are so calming. I can see the sunlight through them, feel the breeze. I even hear waves lapping outside. I think all jails should be built like this. It’s great for rehabilitation.”
“Aren’t you lonely?”
“No, I like it. Although … solitude could be a problem for people. We should think on it some more.”
