His Captain

Stucco walls the color of blood mixed with dirt grow darker and darker. When the window above his head shut, only thin slivers of light broke through the defenses. The checkerboard floor lay beneath him with dirt, dust, and human hair wadded into balls around his entire body. The wooden door met with the pane and the knob turned, releasing the latch from it's spring-hold to rest inside the necessary hole. A patient hand pulled a warm quilt of black and brown cotton over his back, which he pulled even tighter over his head. Outside, the noise of angry, hurt voices drowned all other sounds. "What are we going to do?" they kept asking, but no one replied a sufficient answer. It didn't matter. No one could lead them now. The Captain's red scarf was a burning reminder, tied around the boy's hand. A reminder that glory days were all over.