Frozen Hell

He curled into a small ball, trying to conserve what miniscule amount of body heat he still had. His frail, broken body was wracked with a tremor of shivers as the cold penetrated deep into his bones. After lying huddled for half an hour, he rose as far as the small ceiling would allow and stretched out his stiff limbs. The cell was long enough that he could lay on his back, but just barely, and high enough to sit on his bony knees. Suddenly, there was the grating sound of stone on stone and the guard shoved in a plate of cold stew and half frozen water.

“How’s hell, Callum?” the guard asked in a voice made gruff by the extreme cold of Siberia.

“F-f-f-freezing” Callum croaked, his teeth chattering.

“With any luck, you’ll be dead before Thursday, and they’ll bring in the next batch,”

“I won’t die,” he whispered.

“What was that?” the guard asked half glad for the conversation half angry at this American prisoner.

“I said, I won’t die,” he said a little louder. The guard laughed, if you could call it that, a brusque sound that barely passed for laughing.

“That’s what they all say, Bradley Callum. But you’ll join the fallen before Thursday, I guarantee it,” he said before closing the small grate and leaving. Callum sat in the Frozen Hell, trying not to let the mind numbing temperatures quench his rebellious fire. He was here for a reason, and that reason was that he was a danger to the Russians. So why not prove himself a danger and break out? But he was known for blowing important things up, not thinking of fool proof plans. In the end, he could think of nothing. And so, he sat, defiant, with his arms crossed, scowling at the world until the guard came back.

“Still alive in there, Callum?” he asked, a note of humor on his breath. Callum said nothing. The guard slowly opened the door to find Callum, his eyes open, staring up at where the sky might have been, if not for the blocks of stone. “You dead, Callum?” he asked, staring at the body. He picked the boy up, slung him over his shoulder, and through him down in the snow outside. Callum opened his eyes, trying to get one more look at the blood red morning sky before he passed into the void. The last thing he remembered was the cold, the biting cold, as he drifted peacefully into oblivion, a blank smile frozen into his gaunt face.

Tombstone:

Bradley Callum

2063-2080

Lived and died under a blood red sky. May he rest in peace.

Bradley Callum died in a prison in Siberia after lighting fires and launching fireworks in the capitol of Russia. He was a brave American soldier who loved his country.

Bradley Callum.