Courage and Faith: the Rebellion

Courage and Faith:

The journey of Courage

By: Spencer Langlois

3/20/2012

I was born in the prison in Russia, at least I think so. The prison was called Traskovi, it is the only world I had ever known, after the war, and the Russian government took over the world, not so much the Russian government, but Mikhail Titov, the now dictator. It happened 5 years before I was born. Some say that Russia elected him as the Prime Minister for communist Russia and he eroded at the economy, the government, and just people until he was in full control. When other countries intervened he declared war on each one of them and never stopped attacking, in Russia they have a saying “you don’t fight the man with the bigger stick” this translates to, in simplest terms, don’t fight those in control. I am 16 and my name is Courage at least that is what everyone calls me. I don’t know who gave me this name because I never knew my parents, when the war happened Russia decided to keep as many people of different races locked away as they could, something to do with unique genetics.

           

Weather they needed us or not, they were treating us terrible. I have several books I have managed to collect over the years, it took me a year to teach myself how to read and write because when you are locked in an ice-cold cell alone for 9 hours a day, you have a lot of time on your hands, from time to time they use everybody in the prison to clean up after disasters, we are allowed to salvage things and if the guards think it is safe, we can bring them back to our cells. Among my most prized possessions are several books, a wooden pen, a few candles, a lighter, a ring, and a telescope that I have salvaged. I sometimes would never leave my cell.

During the day all 1000 inmates could roam around the complex with minimal supervision. Since it is a mix of boys and girls under 18 it is rather nice to be able to flirt with girls and talk with the guys. Outside this cell I have a very close group of friends, but at night it is lonely

           

I sit up against a wall of a curved roof of a cell. I used to have a cellmate, but he died of exposure almost a month ago. The window was a small opening in the wall with steel bars across it. More than once I planned of jumping out and ending this miserable life that I am trapped in, but we are instinctive creatures, us humans. I really never got the nerve to jump. I came close one time, but I convinced myself it was too cold to die that day.

I lean my head against the wall with my thin dirty clothes rippling in the wind. When suddenly I hear a metal screech, I turn my head and look out into the massive cell complex. It’s deserted, it was probably someone on another floor. I turn my head back towards my bed and see that nobody is there. Then I turn my head to look forward before I quickly shoot my glance back at the back of the cell. There is somebody in the window!

           

I propel myself backwards and get as far away from the window as I possibly can. I slide on the icy ground in my bare feet. But I don’t scream, I never do, that is not one of my instincts, I have to think before I scream. The person uses their bare hands to pull the loose bar in the window off to the side. I gather my thoughts and get on my feet. I might not be one for surprises. But I am strong and can fight. I walk cautiously towards the window when a thin person slides through the bars like a ninja. They are very thin and have long, dirty, black hair. I realize who it is in a second once I see that hair.