by Theo Villepontoux

I never knew what he did. 

He came in saying nothing. My first impression of him was that he was awfully young. He looked like a fish in a bowl. But he wasn’t like the other young prisoners. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t look around him. He didn’t look lost. He looked straight ahead. His eyes were always fixed. He stood up erect. He never slouched. His whole body, his whole demeanor, was aimed at showing he was not afraid. 

But that first night, as the lights went off, and the whole prison went to sleep, I heard something under my bunk. It was a faint whimpering noise. At first, I didn’t believe it came from him; it contrasted so much with how he had come in, all straight and emotionless. But even in his cries there was restraint. He kept it quiet so that it wouldn’t wake me. At some point, he stopped abruptly; and I heard nothing more during the night. The whole thing lasted ten minutes or so. It was like his own little session reserved for sadness. 

The next morning he was back to his old fearless self. There were no signs that he had cried. I followed and watched him the whole day, to see if he would waver, to prove I had not gone crazy and made it all up, but he never did. He ate and read in silence. There was no urgency in his movements. He never slumped. He never spoke. He was strong again. There was a determination in his eyes. 

But by night he was whimpering again. And so, every day, I watched him, waiting for him to break, but he never did. He was always alone. He had no friends. This routine went on for months and months. After a year, I began to realize just how much mental strength and effort it took for him to keep up this façade. I could see the struggle in his eyes now. It was clear he was trying not to break. But he always suppressed his pain until his session at night. 

I started feeling this secret connection with him. I was the only one who knew he was playing this role during the day. Yet I never spoke a word to him. 

And when he left, he never got to know that, every night, I could hear him. I could hear his small moments of weakness. 

THE END 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Theo Villepontoux lives in France, but has moved around all his life. His works have appeared in a few journals. And right now works in a school…

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Sarah E N Kohrs is an artist and writer, with over 100 journal publications of her poetry and photography. She is the 2022 Kingdoms in the Wild poetry award recipient for her chapbook, Chameleon Sky. Sarah has a teaching license, endorsed in Latin and Visual Arts, and homeschools, as well as works in her pottery studio, creating clay art to savor. SENK lives in Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, kindling hope amidst asperity. http://senkohrs.com.