The Prisoner
This is the second offering from Laskoc in this initial posting. It was found amongst his papers after his death in Buenos Aires. In the beginning of his career, his stories tended to get longer with each one, but this is a return to the short form, a very short form, and indeed the shortest piece he had ever written. There is a PDF file at the bottom of the page for download convenience.
The Prisoner-Vashan Laskoc
The prisoner imprisoned upon the heights attained by the ocean floor. Watched pleasantly by my jailer. The gleam of Light and Sky suspended in the wall. Beneath it painted reds, maroons, browns by my fingers the depicting painting. It is small. I am captivated by the work, as it depends upon me. I add to the painting, the only colour I have, changed by time. The rough canvas shows the relief of my brush’s strokes. Holding myself until my Jailer’s gentle jerk settles me in the mud. He holding me but held by me. I hold that which neither wants, but both need. With me hidden Rosemary’s Offspring forgotten waiting to crack the stones. Inventive questions lead to imaginary conversations when they trot me out. I duck and swerve through the thorns Leader hunted Hunter led. The razers come to destroy then build anew horizons to house my new canvas. The Jailer’s gentle jerk pulls me back.
