Prison of Hearts

We awoke in a dank, fetid, and tiny cell. It had a foul-smelling cement floor and cold, cement walls with some kind of hideous black fungus on them. There were iron bars with a cell door that comprised the fourth wall of the cramped prison. My fellow prisoners were groggy and confused, unsure of how we had arrived at this miserable place.

We began comparing our most recent memories, and we all agreed that we had been driving in a car but could recall no further. Had we all been drunk? I felt no hangover, nor did any of my associates report having drunk anything. I looked out the bars down a long hall that extended an indiscernible length in either direction. There appeared to be nobody guarding us.

One of my cellmates yelled out; whether he was calling for help or simply to ascertain if there were any other prisoners than ourselves, I'm not sure. In either event, there was no response. We sat forlorn, unsure if we had simply been locked away and forgotten.

We tried all the usual measures that any persons in similar circumstances would try. We tested the strength of the iron bars, looked for loose or crumbling concrete on the walls, and worked to open the lock using everything from car keys to belt buckles. We were unsuccessful in all our attempts.

As we sat brainstorming what, if anything, we could do next, a noise came from down the hall. It was a soft padding sound, as if somebody was walking towards our cell. We quickly pressed up against the bars and looked in the direction of the sound.

Walking toward the cell was an extremely dark-skinned black man wearing some sort of vaguely tribal or aboriginal outfit. He had thick hair and bare feet. When he approached our cell, I had the distinct feeling that he had something to do with our predicament. He carried a worn burlap bag in one hand and a single key in the other. One of us should have said something to him, but his completely unexpected appearance left us speechless.

Without a word, he unlocked the cell and tossed the bag inside. I quickly put myself into the open space at the cell door to prevent the strange man from closing it. He seemed indifferent to my action and began to casually walk away. I shouted for him to wait, but he either did not hear me or ignored me.

I turned to my now liberated compatriots and managed a partial smile. We were free, but none of us knew where we were. One of my friends opened the burlap bag and found an assortment of swords, which we decided to arm ourselves with. Perhaps our odd tribal friend knew something about this place that we didn't.

We headed down the hallway in the direction that the tribesman had come from, assuming that he must have come from somewhere. After a seemingly interminable walk, we spotted a staircase leading up. We quickly ascended the stairs and found that they ended into a large, high-ceilinged room that was apparently a royal chamber of some sort.

On the walls were the bizarre tapestries of some nation unknown to me. They pictured strange animals that seemed to be devouring people whole. The floor was a black marble so dark it seemed as though it was made of nighttime itself. At the far end of the room sat a wooden throne bearing a tribe member who was obviously a chief of some sort. He had a regal headdress of feathers and bones woven together with tremendous skill. He wore a loincloth like our earlier visitor, but it was decked with a number of colorful stones.

Next to him stood a large, roughly human-sized, paper heart. It was of a soft, purplish-gray hue that made me think of the heart seen on the intro and ending of the "I Love Lucy" show. In front of the chief stood several tribesmen armed with spears. At a nod from the chief, the tribesmen gave a shout and ran toward us, spears pointed threateningly.

For a brief moment I considered trying to talk to the attackers, ask them what we were doing here and why they were assaulting us, but the swiftness of their advance made that impossible. It seemed they were on us in a breath's time. Instinctively, me and my fellow captives raised our swords and made to defend ourselves.

We fought as intensely and brutally as we were able, but we were outnumbered. Overwhelmed by superior numbers, we gradually were beaten down and taken back to our dingy cell. All this was done without a word from our captors.

As we sat nursing our wounds back in the claustrophobic cage, we looked with confusion at each other. We still had no clue as to how we had arrived here or what the intentions of our captors were. While we sat musing upon these questions, we again heard the padding of feet head down the hallway.

Our enigmatic liberator again appeared, opened our cell door, and left the bag with the weapons. I shouted questions at him and attempted to get in front of him to block his path, but he possessed unearthly strength and speed and was by me and out of sight in moments. Again me and my fellow prisoners took up the swords, but this time we headed in the opposite direction down the hall.

After another seemingly endless journey, we arrived at another staircase that headed upwards. We ascended carefully, alert for any danger. At the top we found ourselves inexplicably in the royal chamber again. The chief looked over at us and nodded to his warriors, who again launched themselves across the room like lightning at us.

This time we ran, knowing we were outnumbered, but our attackers surrounded us and forced us to fight. Again we fought desperately and with what meager strength we had remaining, but the results were the same. We were defeated and sent back to our cell.

In a short amount of time, our jailer returned, again opening the cell and leaving us with the swords. Were we to battle these silent captors forever? Was this some sort of sick game? We took our weapons and again wandered down the unbearably long hallway. My fellow prisoners were bruised, bleeding, and dispirited. I could tell they were reluctant to head back into the royal chamber to fight, but I had an idea and told them to trust me. With reluctant glances, they agreed to give it one more shot.

Again we ascended the stairs and entered the royal chamber. Again we were assaulted by the bloodthirsty tribesmen. This time, though, in the chaos of battle I ducked to my knees and ran past the melee up to the throne where the chief sat. He looked blankly at me, seemingly void of emotion. I went to the side of him and ran my sword into the paper heart. I rent it from top to bottom.

All at once, the battle ended. The tribesmen dropped their weapons and began to stare amusedly at my fellows. The chief stood up and smiled woodenly at me. Not waiting for our attackers to recover their ferocity, I ran along with my associates toward a door that I noticed for the first time just on the opposite side of the now-torn heart.

We burst through the door and found ourselves outside a medieval-style castle, complete with crenellations and large stone towers. It was the dead of night, and the sky was black, but there was a long descending staircase in front of us. We fled down the staircase with fear-fueled alacrity, not turning back to see if we were followed. After a few moments, we noticed light coming from the bottom of the stairs. They were the headlights of a car.

We were getting inside the car and planning to depart this horrible prison with every ounce of speed that the car could muster, when we heard the sound of laughter coming from the castle. I stopped as I was getting into the car and cast a glance back to the castle entrance. The chief and the tribesmen were standing at the top of the staircase laughing with maniacal glee. As I watched them, they reached up and peeled the skin off their faces, revealing still-laughing skulls.