From In Here

"Thank you, Alexander. That will be all."

Alexander left the plate on the table and backed away with a deferential dip of his chin. His footsteps receded in the corridor outside, but the man perusing steamed chicken and vegetables knew he still wasn't alone. He never was. There was always somebody nearby. Not so different, really, to what he was used to.

His paunch, smaller now than it had been, heaved with a sigh. Yes, smaller. He could do diets , he was the best at dieting. But the thing is, he'd always had access to plenty of food. The best food. That's what hard work did for you, isn't that right? Hard work and success. But now, now he was losing weight. That could be a good thing. He would need to get some new suits tailored. You know. Afterwards. Yes. Hmm.

He set aside the letter he was reading, and picked up his cutlery.

The shadow just outside his door shifted. If he listened hard he could hear the small sounds of the person existing. Breathing. A small cough. Shoes squeaking. He chewed on his chicken, wondering which one it was. Some were friendlier, others treated him with almost open revulsion.

If he concentrated on the stacks of papers on his desk, he could almost believe he was in a normal study, and the guy just out there was regular security. He needed security. He'd ruled up the wrong people. Dangerous people. Before he came here, he was shot at. Twice!

He leaned over the meal and breathed in the smell wafting off it. Better that than the Smell that lived in this place. The stink of people pressed together with fear and guilt and boredom, like a ghastly human lasagne.

A clang from somewhere below added another weight to his heavy brows.

The touches of so-called luxury around him: the desk, the comfortable green chair, the books and newspapers... these might set him apart from the other inmates, but he was still in a cell. This fact was difficult to escape.

Despite the fresh vegetables and copious briefing notes, he was still denied his freedom. The freedom he had a right to, as an American. Hadn't he served well before? And the people, the people loved him! He'd won a second time. It had been a joke when he'd been brought in here. A bad joke. A dream. A bad dream. A terrible dream. He'd thought, this is all a mistake. I'll be out of here in no time. He was still here. His brow dropped further, as if hoping to meet his pout halfway.

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, set his plate aside, and pulled another stack of papers closer. Picking up his thick, elegant pen, and squinting a little at the page, he signed another executive order in a thick, spiky hand.

Yes, he could still do this job from in here. Of course he could. He could do anything. He was a real American, a powerful man, and a genius.

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The daily story adventure continues! Thank you, as always, for reading.

Let's see how high I can go! I'm up to over a thousand on Duolingo now, so I'm no stranger to a beefy streak.

I hope you can tell who this is supposed to be. If not, I hope it stirred your curiosity a bit.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! Wishing you success in your writing goals for 2025!