Freedom- A Story
This week I've written a short piece of fiction which was inspired by being in lockdown, with some influence from the Korean film Oldboy too. I did begin a zombie-story but actually I felt like my lockdown fiction ought to be more about the joy of the real world than virus-related horror. I hope you like it!
It was early one summer morning, the sun just staring to rise. I was making my way home but was so inebriated that the ten minute walk home from the pub had so far taken nearly an hour. Then suddenly everything went dark.
I awoke to find myself in what looked like a dingy hotel room- there was a bed and a wooden table with a 9 inch TV on it, an en-suite bathroom to one side and nothing else. There was no window, just hideous flocked wallpaper on all four sides. With a groan, I sat up and waited for the world to stop spinning. I managed to get up and was planning to seek out whichever kind soul had picked my drunken self up and deposited me safely here. I staggered over to the door of the room and went to open it but realised I could not. I paused for a moment, wondering if I was just too weak from the hangover, and then tried again but to no avail- the door was locked.
Back in the present, I start walking along the pavement. It seems to be early in the day but there are still people around. Perhaps it's just my isolation but it feels like everyone is happy- there's laughter and hugging and a general sense of humanity enjoying itself. It's something I've only seen on a screen recently.
For my first hour or so in the room I wasn't worried. I assumed the door had been locked for my own safety. Sooner or later someone would come and unlock it. I pressed the power button on the TV and then realised there was no remote control to be found. It was stuck on a movie channel, currently airing some animated kids film which involved a squirrel with an irritating voice. When you're hungover you'll watch anything.
A short time later, a hatch suddenly opened at the bottom of the door and a tray was slid through it. I raced to shout to the person the other side but the hatch immediately slammed shut. This didn't feel like a hotel. I examined the contents of the tray, just a few slices of bread and a glass of water. I drank the water, well aware I needed to hydrate, but couldn't stomach the bread yet.
After a few more hours the effects of the previous evening had largely worn off and my brain was beginning to feel clear. Now the sense of uneasiness began to rise. Indeed, when a second meal was delivered via the hatch, a bowl of soup this time, I lost it. I shouted at my unknown jailer, demanding they release me that instant. Whether my cries were heard or not, no response came.
Now, I look up and see an arrowhead of geese shooting through the sky. The noise of the passing traffic has never felt so welcome. The smell of greasy fast-food hits my nostrils and my stomach growls with excitement that it is finally going to be able to have something other than bread, soup or pasta.
Then, I fell into a state of deep depression. I had no idea where I was, why I was there or how long I would be there for. The channel the TV was stuck on appeared to be a movie channel and I switched it on occasionally but couldn't get into anything. For days, I just lay on my bed and felt empty.
It was the ninth day when things changed. For some reason I'd slept better for the first time. I happily ate the bread and drank the water. I decided I may as well watch whatever film was showing- I was just in time to catch the start of Paddington 2. I'd seen it before but now the bear being wrongfully imprisoned took on a whole different meaning to me. But Paddington didn't get depressed, he made it his mission to improve things inside the prison. I was aware it was ridiculous but that talking bear changed something in me. I vowed then that I'd not let my captivity get to me- I'd sit through it and entertain myself in whatever ways I could. Sooner or later this would be over.
I watched endless films, I exercised in my little room and tried to make artwork out of any scraps of food left over from the meals. Some days were better than others but I kept on going, still cleaning and exercising every day. Giving up wasn't an option.
After about six months of this, an almighty rumpus erupted from somewhere in the building. Shots were fired, there was shouting and the sound of doors being kicked in. My heart leapt- this was it! I was finally going to be released. Eventually footsteps approached my door and a voice shouted "stand clear!". The door burst open and I stood facing a group of armed policeman.
Many questions were left unanswered. Whoever captured me had vanished and the police weren't able to track them down. After giving a statement, where I could tell them precisely nothing, I was admitted to hospital to be checked over. It turned out I was surprisingly healthy. The food had just about given me enough nutrition and my self-imposed exercise regime had done it's job.Within an hour, it was declared that I was free to go. And with that, I stepped out of the hospital and out into the world.
Now, I'm free. Whilst I am frustrated by what had happened to me, my main feeling is joy. I lost six months of my life but it could have been a lot worse. Now I feel like I'm going to grasp hold of every moment and live life to the full. I'm going to bask in the sunlight, I'm going to travel to new and exciting places and I'm going to hold my friends and family close. Being isolated may have been unbearable at times but it had been worth keeping going because here I am, fit and well, and the world is mine for the taking.
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