Simple Days | Teen Ink

Simple Days

October 29, 2015
By KingCheetah GOLD, Miami, Florida
KingCheetah GOLD, Miami, Florida
12 articles 1 photo 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Mankind is governed by its imagination" -Napoleon Bonaparte

It was a simple day. Clouds rolled peacefully along the skyline, the sun shining high in the sky. The room was dank, cold, and dark, a stark contrast to the beautiful weather outside. A single, rectangular window let light peer into the room. The stone walls were humid and deteriorated. Footsteps were heard, pacing back and forth patiently but full of authority. Clack... clack... clack, the shoes made as they made their way back and forth. Blood dripped onto the ground, adding to the puddles of crimson, splashed all over the floor. 
A man paced over his prisoner in complete silence. The rats could be heard scurrying in the high ceiling above them. Water dripped, drop by drop, onto the floor. The repetitiveness of the droplets hitting the ground were numb to the prisoner's ears. He was kneeling before his captor, his hands behind his back and shackled to the ground. His clothes were ragged and bloodied from all the torture he's suffered through. But he still held a defiant light in his eyes, clearly not defeated. His face was beaten and cut, streams of blood trailing down to his chin. Another drop of blood fell to the floor.
His captor stopped. Kerosch Naxos eyed him sternly. His expression remained wooden and dull. He held his hands behind his back, his neat, grey, military suit not having a speck of dust on it. Naxos' black, ironed pants and polished shoes complemented his jacket well. On his chest were many decorated awards of honor and he had a red officer's hat with a black rim. Naxos' expression soured, slightly.
"You're not going to talk?" He asked, perfectly calm. Not a single tendril of anger or impatience in his tone. Naxos' dark brown eyes glared at the prisoner menacingly. The prisoner looked up slowly and shook his head quietly.
"You'll never make me talk," the prisoner answered, rebelliously. Naxos nodded and began pacing back and forth again, making sure not to step on any blood.
"I see," he said, softly. Naxos walked over and grabbed a chair located at a corner of the room. He came back and sat down, placing both of his index fingers over his mouth, as if thinking something through, thoroughly.
"You're not going to win this. You do realize this, am I correct?" Naxos told him. However, the prisoner would deny him again.
"We'll never lose to the likes of you," the prisoner said and spat blood. A small drop landed on Naxos' cheek. Slowly, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it off.
"You have a sense of humor, Davidson," Naxos said, a small hint of a smile creeping onto his face. "But, unfortunately, not everyone you'd like to stay in this world can do so," Naxos said, as he put away his handkerchief and pulled out a well-polished pistol. Naxos observed the firearm as if it were a priceless treasure. He stood up and walked to the prisoner, raising the gun to his head. He c***ed the pistol. "I'm sorry, and I hope you'll forgive me for this. However, I can't complete my cleansing of this foul planet unless I do this," Naxos said as he looked away, a false sense of sympathy on his face. Naxos flexed his finger and a bang was followed by a thud. Then he turned and pocketed his gun.
Naxos then walked to the door and stepped out into another room of the vast complex he was in. A few men then walked in to pick up the lifeless body, lying in a puddle of crimson, light reflecting off the life liquid. Naxos exchanged glances with other officers that were waiting in the room for him. He shook his head.
"Nothing... Another one wasted. Time to go find a new meta," Naxos said, walking past them and proceeding down the hallway, a dull and emotionless expression on his face. Indeed it was just another simple day.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.