Jenn opened his eyes to find a wall in front of him. He closed his eyes and counted to three, but the wall remained. Had he been moved during the night?
He listened for the footfall of a prison guard coming to spring whatever joke they'd made him part of. Instead he heard voices, men talking and even laughing. Was he still in the barracks?
The wall was wooden, painted white. Slowly Jenn reached out a hand, until he felt the edge of rough timber under his fingers. Yet he couldn't remember seeing such a wall anywhere in Blackmarsh. He rolled over. A short distance away was another wall, this one with shelves. "Shelves to put your personal items on," someone had said, just before Jenn fell asleep.
You own nothing. You are nothing.
Not in the barracks?
A memory pushed to the surface, of him walking away from the hellhole of Blackmarsh and a ride on a mail coach into the city. Was that just a dream though? The wall felt solid. It was no dream.
All white. Definitely not the barracks. He heard women's voices mixed with the men's. No woman was allowed within twenty metres of the barracks. 'More's the pity,' Captain Greene had said, and then he'd made some joke about Jenn being a girl's name.
Jenn's eyes roamed the tiny room. The shelves. A silver hairbrush, a pot of tincture.
Even the things you think are yours forever are not.
Jenn lifted the blanket and peeked underneath. Not a joke then.
Opening: Monissa Whitely.....Continuation: McKoala