RP: On the floor, where the mice call shots in the corner. That's where I'll be. Date: February 11, 2001 Characters: Benjamin Macnair Location: Azkaban Public/Private: Private Summary: Ben tries to get use to his new home. Status: Complete
Ben wrapped the blanket around him as he sat in the corner on the floor of his cell watching a mouse scurry past. He didn't like his cot. It was stained, smelled and was just plain disgusting. He preferred the floor.
Ben was always a simple kind of guy. He lived in a small cabin in the woods. Nothing fancy. He never minded getting his hands dirty, braving the elements, roughing it even to enjoy a good camping trip. But this was a little different. Okay, a lot different. It was cold, damp, dark, depressing and dirty. He was actually thankful to be locked up in his own cell. He felt safe there from the other inmates. Most had seemed to have gone insane. He could only assume it was from being around the Dementors for some time. He hadn't been anywhere near them himself, but he could feel the sadness and energy that they sapped out of this place already. Sleep was tough listening to the screams and cries all through the night. Some inmates just talked gibberish to themselves all night. Was this going to be him in a year from now?
Honestly he thought he could get through three years without too much difficultly. It could have been worse. But now that reality had hit him, he was scared. He didn't want to end up in that inmate graveyard next to the prison on the island. He had to survive three years and come out with his sanity. He just didn't know how? The challenge might be finding someone sane enough to talk to. He wasn't sure if anyone would come visit him here? Did he want anyone to see him here?