Open Prison
One day I’m going about my normal life – then the next thing I remember, I’m in here.
Have I done something dreadful? If so, I don’t remember a thing about it, and I’ve never had any intention of doing anything bad. I don’t remember any court case, nothing.
It’s not really much like a prison, anyway. Fenced all around, but not at all secure, and no guards or anything – not as far as I’ve seen. But we’re all wearing painfully brightly coloured boiler suits, and all the other inmates are shuffling zombies. At least I’m not a shuffling zombie.
Well – I don’t feel like a shuffling zombie. I wonder whether the others feel like shuffling zombies? They look like shuffling zombies to me. I wonder whether I look like a shuffling zombie to everyone else?
I could vault that fence easily. I suppose it would keep the shuffling zombies in well enough. Well, I think I could vault it easily – as long as I’m still not a shuffling zombie in reality. Would something dreadful happen to me if I tried to make my escape?
What will happen to me if I don’t try to make my escape? Horror of horrors, perhaps a few days of whatever we’re given to eat here – we must get something to eat! – will turn me into a shuffling zombie.
So there’s nothing to lose.
And yes, I’m right, I can vault that fence easily. And nothing dreadful – nothing at all – has happened to me yet. Now where to go?
From being in what was virtually a field, I’m rapidly in a maze of ancient narrow streets – deserted for the moment, but looking as though they were busy last night, and probably will be again quite soon, when the sun comes up. This orange boiler suit is a bit of a problem. And all I’ve got under it, I find, is a pair of orange underpants and an orange vest. I wonder whether the locals – any of them – might be sympathetic to my plight? Or whether they’ll simply turn me over to the authorities?