Short Story: Innocent

Shrika Somisetti shares a tender story on the extent any parent can go to protect their children.

The prisoner lay on the damp floor of the small, dark cell- his face devoid of emotion. It was all he did these days. There were times when he used to pace angrily across the length of the room and roar with all his might. That only earned him beatings, sometimes with a stick, sometimes with a whip. There were also times when he clung to the railings and whimpered desperately, trying to catch a glimpse of humanity under the cruel eyes of his captors, who broke their savage expressions only to show contempt. “Pathetic,” they used to mutter, before spitting on the floor.

The gate opened then, just a few inches, and food was thrown inside. The prisoner listened to the sound of the locks clicking and sat up straight. He looked at his meal- cold, stale and certainly not enough. He pushed it away with a sob. The idea of being reduced to this was intolerable. This was not- this could not be his life. He had so much before.