They’ll be coming soon, they’ll let me out soon. The two thoughts chased one another through his mind as the night gave way to dawn and the sounds of a new day filled the compound.
“What about the one in the box?” One of the farmhands shouted from somewhere nearby.
“Leave him, he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.” Came the answer that sent the first waves of panic washing through his body. They weren’t coming to open the box anytime soon, not before he learned his lesson.
What lesson?
He hadn’t done anything and he fought to quell the panic that threatened to turn him into a raving lunatic that would batter its flesh against unyielding steel in a mindless foray into madness.
It won’t be much longer. He tried to convince himself but that need to stretch his legs grew with every passing moment. The steel around him became warm as the suns rays broke across the horizon. Spilling through the countryside like a river unleashed from it restraints. Running wildly as it cast long shadows for the remnants of the night to seek shelter in.
He focused on keeping himself calm, a nerve-jangling panic thrumming just beneath the surface of his consciousness as he pressed the palms of his hands against the warming steel that was mere inches from his face.
It won’t be much longer.
His leg jerked spasmodically, driving his knee against the lid of his prison, coffin, and pain washed up his leg as panic and rage swelled within him. He screamed as he beat against the lid of his prison, soft flesh turning to mush against the unyielding steel as flecks of blood rained down upon his face. He thrashed back and forth, bouncing his head from unforgiving steel, his screams filling the confined space, ringing in his ears as he pummeled the lid.
He didn’t know how long he had been screaming before the lid was lifted, he was only dimly aware of the cold gray steel replaced by a featureless blue sky. Rough hands reached into the box and pulled him to his feet, standing him next to the box where he collapsed onto the ground.
“On your feet boy,” that familiar voice shouted and he struggled to stand as gloved hands held him steady. He was whimpering in his throat as he gazed about the compound. The featureless gray buildings that surrounded him represented his future. Endless days beneath a relentless sun and the stinging whip of the overseer. Bent to his task until he could no longer stand up straight. Scrabbling through the remainder of his short life like a deformed crab performing tricks for its master for small scraps to sustain itself.
No!
He looked down, catching a glimpse of a well-worn handle, the butt of a pistol sticking out of its holster on the overseer’s hip. Before reason could stop him, he reached out and snatched the pistol from the holster. He fumbled with it in his hand, not sure how to use it, relying more on instinct as he wrapped one hand around the handle and pointed the muzzle at the three farmhands who had come to take him from the box.
“Let’s get him back to the…” the man in charge began, the rest of his sentence dying as he turned to find the muzzle of the pistol aimed at his face.
To be continued!
Richard Schiver 
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