Hasan woke up in his dark cell. He couldn't remember where he was or why he was there. He looked around and saw nothing but darkness. He tried to get up, but he couldn't; every muscle hurt, every inch of his body screamed at him to stop whenever he attempted to move, so he just gave up.
After a few hours, a masked man came and forcefully pulled him to his feet. He dragged him to the end of the hall and threw him into a bigger cell with other prisoners, then closed the door again.
An old man crawled toward him and asked in a barely audible, rough voice, "Are you alright, son?"
Hasan the guy who'd always been cheerful and positive throughout his life, no matter how shitty the situation was couldn't answer that question. He muttered, "Thank you for your concern, but I don't think anyone is alright here."
The old man nodded and tried to help Hasan into a sitting position. "How long have you been here?" Hasan asked.
The old man had a long white beard, and his teeth were black. His wrinkled skin was covered with scars, rashes, and acne. He was also inhumanely thin. Hasan wondered what this poor soul had endured in this dark hole.
The old man took his time to answer. His eyes were empty as he stared at the floor, as if searching for an answer. "I don't know, son. I've been here far longer than I could count, and I don't even remember anymore what year it was when I was first brought here or what season."
Hasan felt bad for the old man. He leaned on the wall behind him and tried to get a little comfortable. Then, someone else spoke to him in a low, dry voice, "What about you? Are you new?"
Hasan chuckled despite the pain and said, "What gave it away? Am I not beat up enough?"
A tall, bearded man who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the cell spoke up. "We don't mean to scare you, but you must have already noticed the difference between our appearances and yours."
Hasan nodded in understanding. He tried his best to come up with a phrase, anything to lighten the mood. It was his way of fighting back, his unique way of objecting and rejecting their situation. It was his way of revolting against every oppression in life. Finally, his brain gave him what he wanted. Forcing his lips into a smirk, he said, "Don't be so harsh on yourselves. You guys still look better than the president. I still have no idea how he convinces a new model to marry him every year. I'd rather be locked in this dark cell than look at his face for longer than five minutes."
For a while, there was silence. Then, everyone in the cell started laughing for the first time in years, even decades for some of them.
"What's your name, funny boy?" the tall man asked.
"Hasan. And you?"
The man answered, "I'm Othman. My nickname is Abo Emad. My son, Emad, was born three days before I was arrested. I was an engineer at a big company. One day, the government asked me to create a road that would go through the old market. When I refused to design a route that might destroy old homes and proposed another path, I was thrown in here without any sort of trial. It's been fifteen years. My son must be a big, handsome boy now just like you."
Hasan managed a gentle smile. "Nice to meet you, Obo Emad. But for the record, I'm twenty-seven. I don't blame you for mistaking me for a young boy. Everyone who sees me says I look ten years younger than I am, the curse of beauty, I guess."
The old man laughed at Hasan's words. "Oh, Hasan, we haven't laughed in years. Sometimes, we don't even speak for weeks. You have such a pure soul. May Allah grant you freedom soon, so you don't rot in this cell like the rest of us."
Hasan turned to the old man and replied, "Inshallah, all of us will get out of here soon. What is your name?"
"My name in this place is Prisoner 156888, but long ago, I was called Obada. My friends used to call me Abo Khamis because I always wanted to have a son and name him Khamis. But I was brought here before I got married or saw the world."
Hasan's heart ached in his chest. He felt the pain in Abo Khamis's words. "Inshallah, we will be saved. The revolutionists will free us—I'm sure of it. Don't lose hope. You'll get out of here. You'll see the world and even get married."
It was Othman's turn to laugh. "Oh, come on. Don't lie to the poor old man."
Hasan insisted, raising his voice. "I'm not lying! Nothing is impossible. This generation is determined to change things, and I believe in the revolutionists because they fight for justice. Besides, I know my friends will come for me they always do."