Written for the JuneChallenge on figment.
***
He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale dusty air. This is where he had to be. This was his punishment. This was what he deserved.
He had made a mistake. He had messed up. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad. He was already here, already taken away. What would feeling bad do now? No, he couldn’t feel bad- not now, not ever.
He coughed, a cough that sounded like the bark of a seal. He pulled the small jacket he had on closer toward him, trying to keep warm. He was clearly getting sick and, by the looks of it, wouldn’t get any help.
He was going to die there. He wasn’t going to graduate, or get married and start a family. He would live alone in the vast empty space, breathing in dust, and eventually wishing he was dead. And one day he would get that wish.
Nobody wold miss him. Nobody would mourn for him. No one would attend his funeral, or put flowers by his grave. He would simply another prisoner to die.
The thought scared him.
Okay, so maybe he did feel a little bad.
