Chapter Two

“Get back in your hole traitor!” Private Manning was used to the abuse by now. The Marines at Quantico were bigger douches than his Army comrades, but it was the same old control. He’d been in solitary confinement for half-a-year, and it was meant to break him. Today, he felt like it might happen.

“What did I do?” he asked. “Do you even know? Do you have the evidence you need to convict me? No, you don’t and neither do your commanding officers. You know why? THERE IS NONE.” He was advised by Assange to be a cool cucumber and never engage any of his handlers, but he still had a fire inside that he couldn’t always put out.

“Are you frustrated traitor?” the staff sergeant asked. “If you’re frustrated, I’m inclined to believe you might be suicidal, and I’ll have to put you on suicide watch. Is that what you want?”

“WHAT DID I DO?” yelled Manning. Another marine walked over and slapped him.

“I do believe he is suicidal sir. No prisoner would speak to you in such a manner without a death wish. Shall I proceed to put him on watch?”

“For the sake of the safety of this traitor, I hereby order him on watch. Disrobe traitor!” The staff sergeant didn’t smile, but the other marine did.

“You want my clothes? WHY? WHAT…DID…I…DO?!?” Meditation had helped for the first several months, especially after the depression he experienced when they took his meds away. He had hoped the mainstream media would pick up his case, but so far, it appeared they didn’t care…and it stung.

“Your clothes can be used as a lethal means for ending your life. Therefore, according to military ordinance #09115150, you will fork over your clothes now traitor!”

“Fine!” yelled Manning, his humiliation boiling,” you’ve already taken my life, take my fucking clothes asshole!” He stripped down to his underwear and threw his prison uniform at the grinning marine.

“And your skivvies traitor!”

“Really? I’m gonna hang myself with a pair of Hanes?”

“You’re a pint-sized pin prick, and that elastic’ll go a long way. Hand ‘em over traitor. You are to remain visible at all times, including at night, which entails no access to sheets, no pillow except the one built into your mattress, and a blanket designed not to be shredded.”

“You’re not human. You’re just part of a machine, and that machine is broken!”

“Well, just consider me to be your Mr. Fix-it from now on. You want to make your way into a straight-jacket before you head back into your hole, or are you finished?” Manning’s breathing was ragged. He felt his blood pressure on his neck. Inhale…exhale…let it pass.

“I’m finished sir,” he managed a smile.