How barren the vineyard must be Dec 7, 2019 16:50:07 GMT -6 via mobile
Post by Ylanne on Dec 7, 2019 16:50:07 GMT -6
Whatever kind of reinforced glass pane fit the small window in the cell was smudged beyond recognition, blurring everything otherwise visible on the other side of it. A few of the trees lining the parking lot swayed gently with the breeze, the winds rippling through leaves and branches in bunches, moving so fluidly the old woman could almost smell the crisp autumn air over the stale, recirculated air pumped through the aging HVAC system in the cellblock. The time for dinner had come and gone already, and after the nasty fall Drulović had taken on the way back from lunch, she'd decided not to risk the walk again in the evening. Her stomach growled in complaint but she'd long ago learned to ignore it. Nearly nine decades ago, really. Throughout the day, time had passed marked by the guards calling for count and the cars heading in and out of what she surmised was the employee side of the lot for shift changes first at seven in the morning and then again at three in the afternoon. Today, the prosecutor had not come, nor had any of what few friends she still had. By now, it was unlikely that any of the guards might come for her but for the last count of the night, and so she lay atop the mattress, unmoving, watching the lot from the corners of her eyes, unable to keep her thoughts from wandering back to the fiery, aching pain settled in her knees and hips and radiating lines of agony through joints, bones, and ligaments outward from there. Even lying still did not make that pain disappear. Her fingers, what remained of them, slowly curled with the tension beside her. The shadows lengthened, grew spindly, and suddenly the cell was filled with bright orange hued light - the last cry before the sun would sleep that night. A long, official-looking sedan pulled into the lot, then, and the old woman caught sight of the familiar Parliamentary seal emblazoned on the side. Perhaps she would not spend the night alone.