The Prisoner awoke to find his shackles had been removed as he slept. In the murky light, he could just make out the lighter shade of the skin on his wrists from where he had once been constrained. He sat hunched on his knees, a malformed silhouette of misery and loneliness, in a powerful moment of reflection and consideration. Then, he heard it.

It was the soft yet heavy sound of big feet pattering against the cold floor. The sound always heard just before he would be beaten. Only this time, something was different. The familiar pat-pat-pat was moving � quickly � away from the cell.

Raising his head with all the speed of plate tectonics, the Prisoner viewed something he�d not seen in months�possibly years. Light. A small vertical sliver shone through from the door. The door. It was open.

Knowing an opportunity when he saw one, the Prisoner stumbled awkwardly to his feet, his knees obstructing him several times, until he was up on two legs once again. Months of unspeakable torture were lost as he scrambled towards the light and the hallway beyond.

The light bore into his eyes, putting his pupils into massive convulsing shock. Never before had the Prisoner seen something so bright � so brilliantly bright and beautiful that it hurt. He grasped the wall for support.

Pat-pat-pat.

His sight slowly and painfully adjusted in time to see the back of a large man running off into a distant shadowy corridor. The Prisoner, feeling a burst of enraged energy, flew off after the man and the sound of his feet. He didn�t know the layout of the building, but by God, he knew that damned sound.

Before long, the Tormentor was right in front of him, still unaware of his presence. He raised a disproportioned fist, the bony knuckles largest on the whole hand, and brought it down hard onto the back of the head of his Tormentor. The man fell to the ground, stunned. The Prisoner grabbed his body and slammed him up against the icy wall.

�You have beaten, broken and pillaged me,� he stated.

The Tormentor said nothing.

�Why have you done these things to me?� he demanded.

The Tormentor remained silent.

�Speak, damn you! I�ve wished to die every second of every day as a result of you�the least you can do is speak!�

The Tormentor was still.

�Bastard! Why?� the Prisoner howled.

The Tormentor put a peaceful hand onto the Prisoner�s arm, and gently removed it. The Prisoner broke down and wept, his head in his hands. The Tormentor, seeing this, placed the same hand on the Prisoner�s shoulder, and slowly stepped into the light, showing his face.

The Prisoner stared at himself. Short Story: The Prisoner and the Tormentor 1

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