The Making of a Heartbroken Boy | ✔️

CHAPTER 9

1948, TAIPING PRISON, PERAK, Malaya.

He slowed in front of Taiping Prison.

The guards exchanged mousy glances as they made their way through the big, yellow doors of the jail.

"Do I get a trial?" Ivan asked in Malay.

The guards looked at one another once more, then tightened their grip around Ivan's arms and took longer strides towards the cells. They worked their way through several long hallways, finally nearing an empty cell for Ivan.

His hands shook as they unclasped his handcuffs through the bars. Not even a fair trial. What kind of country is this?

He leaned into the cold metal rods, his head lightly placed between two of them. Heaving a sigh, he gripped them between his fingers and pulled as hard as he could. Maybe, just maybe, they were weak enough to be pulled apart.

A man shouted and Ivan jumped backwards, swearing that the metal had moved an inch. He dropped hopelessly to the floor and stared at the grey of the concrete.

Weeks droned on and with every passing day Ivan's hope drained - sliver by sliver, piece by piece, until they turned from feather-light to gold-heavy, leaving everything inside him hollow and lost. Nothing he could even imagine to hope for, despite the uneventful time he'd spent counting his blessings. Despite knowing that nothing had happened and nothing ever would.

Despite the fact that over everything in the world, he trusted Ali with his life - with his freedom. Ali - he decided. An unworthy cause.

So finally, He had run out of things to hope for; Ali to buy his freedom, for Amadi to send the Communists for him. No one could save him from this ugly mess. He realized it far too late - hope was a dead man's blessing.

***

Ivan woke with a loud, pounding noise. Banging echoed down the hall as a guard hit the metal rods of Ivan's cell with his boot. Suddenly, the guard flung the cell open and cuffed Ivan before he could react. He winced as the guard tightened the handcuffs and pulled Ivan through the cell doorway, bringing him back into the maze of halls. They stopped before the front desk. Ivan watched as the guards exchanged words and nodded at the young man behind the desk. He's barely older than Amadi, Ivan thought as the men waited.

Finally, the bright light of dawn leaked through the opening yellow-doors of the entrance, and Ivan was thrown inelegantly into a truck with a soft top, the back open to see the passing ground behind.

He stared at the ground as the front doors closed and they sped away, the ground rolling beneath the car unsteadily. Uncomfortable between two guards, he shimmied and forced them to shift a little farther away.

Ivan slouched, praying he wouldn't fall asleep. The truck turned several times, and it flung his weight around on his seat, forcing him to bump into the guards seated next to him. Ivan blinked at the guard on his right as the man shuffled farther away, eyes landing on the silver pistol hanging at his side. The guard to his left had dozed off long ago, head nodding with the bumps of the road.

An idea cleared in his mind.

He inched closer to the guard on his right. The man still didn't notice as Ivan slipped a magazine from the belt, turning to face the other guard awkwardly to reach it.

His hands slid the magazine underneath his butt. Slowly, he turned to face the guard on his right, sliding his hands over the seat behind him and grasping the pistol of the guard to his left. The man stirred and he dropped his hands.