Medrine Habitica 01-13-2023

Prompt: SETTING/CONFLICT - A man is falsely accused of a crime and sent to prison for life. He is rich enough to appeal, but prison seems to be treating him very poorly. Write about the man trying to survive prison while waiting to get an appeal.

The stark white walls reverberated with a low humming electrical current. A single light source flooded the room, brightly pouring over the cell's minimal contents. In the corner of the room was a small lavatory, cordoned off by an opaque digital screen when occupied. The prisoner currently resided on the room's solitary bed, a plain white surface that appeared to be a solid block of marble protruding from the wall. The surface of the block formed around the prisoner like a non-Newtonian fluid, streaming against his skin as he shifted. There was no justice, the prisoner thought. His corpulent body shifted again with his relentless. He longed for something, some activity but they had kept him hostage in this lonesome room for nearly a week. He called out again, beckoning the authorities to allow him a moment of freedom. So far, all his pleas had gone unanswered. He shifted once more, his anxiety driving a state of restlessness. He looked at the digital screen on the opposite wall. He tried once again to retrieve information from the database. The screen flickered but remained blank. He was sure they were purposely denying him access. This injustice, his mind bellowed. It was his right to connectivity but they continued to torment him with silence and scarcity. In what seemed a lifetime ago, he was a hub of information. His specialty had been the movement of corporate financials. If one whispered the word trade, it reached his ears. It was a business that required expedience and a tactful knowledge of his potential client base. The thrill of finding the right corner, the right client who would generously appreciate his knowledge made his heart race. The younger, inexperienced tradesmen would often look for the clients who would pay the highest price, burning the chain with a simple monetary reward. He, on the other hand, knew the best clients were often those who held deeper secrets and, if a broker predisposition to restraint denied a financial transaction, they would be rewarded with more lucrative information. But as he sat in this cell, his knowledge and connections were quickly being stripped away. He could feel the loss of profit and position with every tick of the metaphorical clock. The crime he was accused of was naturally false. Being a broker necessitated an inactive role in all transactions. To give up passivity or choose sides would have led to the end of his career and broken the implicit trust of his clientele. Likewise, one could have fit a moon through the gaping holes that made up their so-called evidence. He was confident that once he was given due process, he would be freed. Still, it mattered little since every hour in this cell led further to his demise. The prisoner stood from the bed and the white block fell away, merging into the empty wall. Walking to the wall, he placed a hand on the panel and pleaded for the manual interaction to work. Still, the screen remained blank, the only evidence of operation being an occasional flicker. His body felt lethargic, the dearth of utilization forcing mental stasis. He tried vainly to busy his mind with the discovery of his accusers. Had it been a client? An individual ruined by one of the exchanges? His brain ran through the list of recent movements but he found this exercise did not excite him. The reason for his imprisonment was useless, only the reality of his current status was important. The prisoner simply meandered hopelessly back to the bed. With a single gesture, the bed reformed from the wall. He placed himself down and began once again to toss and turn as his anxiety was fed by isolation. The End