A piece of “A Chronicle of Subordination”
A part of chapter 1 “Till Death Do Us Part”:
His badge, a dreaded sight of the inevitable. The chains now locked, and his head down, he was ushered into a police car, rather aggressively. His arms could barely function. They were weighted down by utter confusion. The cushioned seat became firm, and unforgiving as he had to now plead guilty to a crime he was questioning his own innocence of. The policeman was a loner. He alone, looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror, and he alone, fixed the mirror now on the loner in the back seat. Akakios had a heart that now beaten at an alarming rate. His palms began to perspire, and his eyes fell under a heavy spell. Any comfort was a collapsing fear, because a seemingly strong foundation was now a questionable structure. It was a cognitive response to doubt and a frantic subconscious at work. The pages seemed to fill with words expressed by a different man. Numbed was the man before. He was collapsed somewhere deep within, beyond rescue.
The car pulled into a vacant lot. The graveled lot scratching the underbelly of each tire and crumbling underneath the weight. The car screeched to a halt and the cop abruptly got out of his seat. An angry eye was fixated on Akakios. The door was pulled open and the surrendering man’s heart dropped. The cop, filled to the brim with rage, tore at the man’s arm. Akakios did not fight back. He took a beating. The liquid of life, spread on the cushion that felt so firm before, on the rearview mirror, on Akakios’ face. It was a grim scene. A scene that flashed by as fast as it started. The cop resumed his position in the front seat, and revved the engine.
“That was my son back there.”
The cop adjusted the mirror.
“Did you hear me? That was my life!”
He put the car in gear, and drifted onto the main road.
“I pray to God, you rot in prison. I pray that you don’t even see the light of day. I pray that you slowly diminish into the man you really are. I hope, that you burn. You burn down there. I hope you dwell with the caregivers of Satan. I hope he enslaves you and you have to drink from your own drink.”
Akakios had no response. What was he to say? He was crushed. There was no sympathy either. I suppose that made him a criminal, a terrible human being. He was infatuated with nothing. He was a man that flowed with whatever life brought to him in that moment. Did that make him inhumane? The car drifted into a parking lot. The lot was mostly full with press and other media outlets. The night was now threatening. The cop pounded on the dash.
“I hope you die. You’re coming out with me and then you’re going in there.”