Dead Water

A Million and Counting

The Soldier rubs his hands together trying to warm them up. The cold had settled like a deadly blanket, worsened by the howling wind which somehow penetrated the cinderblock walls of his small cell. But perhaps that was just his imagination. It seemed to be slipping farther and farther into reality. A shadow in the corner was now a horrid grotesque monster, a crack in the ceiling a cheerful snake, and his reflection in the broken mirror was now a shattered ghost. A fitting depiction he tells himself for the millionth time and counting. A slit at the bottom of the iron door opens and a tray of pathetic, barely edible food is pushed through for the millionth time and counting. The Soldier walks over and picks it up. Underneath is a slip of paper. A reward for the information he had given at the last "debriefing" meeting. Just call it a torture session already he thinks to himself. A dark stormy memory begins to resurface, but he shoves them back, deep in a corner of his mind where it can't hurt him. Just as he has a million times and counting. He chokes down what food he can manage, then leaves the tray by the door. He takes the paper to his bed and brings out the pencil that is hidden in a slit in the mattress. And he begins to write. he begins the letter with the same greeting he has used a million times and counting. "My Darling Daughter". He writes of miraculous adventures, funny stories, and jokes. He writes of how he's become friends with the monster, how he has decided to keep the snake as a pet, and of his conversations with the ghost. He writes a letter to his youngest. She'll be old enough to read by now he thinks to himself for the millionth time and counting. Finally, he writes to his beloved wife. He writes of how much he misses her, and longs to be with her again. He asks her how her father is. He makes light of his situation and for the millionth time and counting he promises to come home soon. He hears footsteps coming down the hall. He quickly slips the pencil back in the mattress and tucks the letter under a loose stone in the floor where a million letters and counting lay waiting. The door opens and several brutish men in dirty gray uniforms enter and grab him. They must have figured out the information I gave was either useless or irrelevant. The war's over anyway. he thinks to himself. Ad so for the millionth time and counting he is led away from the cell to a brutal punishment.