The Crucible.

Seconds out of my first reception
I look inside myself. My eyes, sanguine
in colour tell lies about the unseen
hopelessness that they hide as I stand stone
still outside the 'common hall.'
I call it The Crucible. It is absurdly
designed, round at the floor straight up to eye level.
From there is grows wider as the walls climb higher
crescendoing into a ceiling which
exceeds the reach of the eye. Or perhaps not.
I've never looked up.

My hand, glued by sweat to the cast-iron
doorknob begins to twist. Breathing in deeply
I tentatively cross the threshold, and my
thoughts are halted by a stinging silence.

Peripherally, I see them motion
sinisterly to one another, stopping
when I move them from the periphery
into my full gaze. They dance around fires
in the corner of my eye, chanting my name,
trading tales of my treachery, planning my
punishment right up until I look at
the offending party with my full gaze.
Then. They. Stop. Prison Wack-a-mole.

My oscillating head is tired of quelling
fires when I should target the source.
I choose one to approach, and do so
gingerly. I must be tormenting his
periphery as his eyes tick away
and tock back like a catching up clock.
I must be winding his eyes as I walk
and i wonder if they will ever meet mine;
they do. I see they are also sanguine,
but only in colour, never in truth.

After the sun has burnt itself out twice
and after and ice age or two has past,
he speaks. 'What? What do you want?' Looking around
between his words. 'Not a great deal' I say,
Thinking how I've been dealt a grave deal, and
wonder how to be great, deal me out of here
even, or... 'Leave me alone!' He scythes through
my thoughts. 'I know what you did, deluded
traitor, your stupidity cost us all.'
His voice rises with the architecture,
and the others are drawn to my trial.
'You will never leave, this place is in you!'
He bellows, drawing murmurs and roars
of agreement from the tightening band
of others who enclose around me leaving
only the door. I turn and sprint and
smash through the door, down corridors, round corners
jumping arms protruding from cells
ducking under curses and side-stepping spells.
On hot coals of cold concrete I run from my jailer
Until he steps with me back into my chamber.