A spark from me to you

Dorren

The grotesque smell of detainees flowed throughout the cells, including mine. I shifted my gaze from the cemented wall to the floor. A small cockroach ran past me and into a small crack that was embedded in the wall. I sighed, my toes and fingertips starting to feel numb, as a cold draft enters the cell, from the barred window. How long was I going to be in here? My stomach felt as though it were eating itself, as I clasped my arms around it. I curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth. I didn't do it. I didn't do it... Why didn't I say anything? Why wasn't I there to help him on time...? It's my fault, isn't it? As I was starting to delve deeper and deeper into my thoughts, I heard the jangle of keys right outside of my holding cell.

The same officer who tried to engage in conversation with me, opened my cell, looking down at me. I couldn't exactly tell if that was a look of pity, as his expression remained stoic the whole time.

"I'll take you to the interview room now for questioning. Are you okay with that?" His voice was warm but still felt cold at the same time. His blue oceanic eyes pierced into mine, as I felt undermined. I nodded my head slightly. I then stood up, my legs shaking slightly, as I had been sitting for quite a few hours. He placed his hand on my shoulder, the touch sending goosebumps throughout me. As I looked up at him, his face was still unreadable. What was he thinking? I couldn't understand him. Maybe he didn't understand me either. He was taller than me maybe 6'1? Not too sure. He seemed to be in his 20's.

We then passed several rooms that seemed to be the bathrooms, break rooms perhaps? And stopped right in front of one of the four interview rooms. The officer put in a code, a buzz emerging from the door, as we entered. The room was dim lit, but I was able to see pretty easily. There was a circular white table in the middle of the room and a rather large rectangular mirror.

The officer gestured towards one of the seats. "Take a seat. We're going to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. There will be a detective coming in shortly, so we might have to wait for a bit." His face and tone stayed expressionless. Does this guy show any other emotions? Is he even human?

As I sat down on one of the chairs, behind the Officer, was audio and video recording equipment. On the table were a couple of ballpoint pens, and papers, probably for notes. After a couple of minutes of sitting in silence, the door buzzed open. My head turned quite fast to see who it may be. The person who came in was most likely the detective. He had quite a few visible white hairs, his skin was a tanned shade, and he had a black moustache, which was the same as the colour of his hair.

He then sat down across from me, and next to the Officer. He pulled out a couple of notes with writing on them, some scribbled out in red ink. I tried squinting, to understand what was written, but was unable to.

"Now." The detective cleared his throat. "We are going to be asking a few questions on what had happened tonight, I'm hoping that you respond with both truth and honesty. This interview is being recorded and may be used as part of the investigation. Please be aware that anything you say will be carefully analysed." I felt a small lump in my throat. I didn't want to be there. I had no part of the murder...

The officer then pointed towards the large mirror behind me. "There are other detectives and officers viewing this interview, so I advise you give us truthful responses and answers." He leaned back in his chair, with his arms crossed over his chest, while glaring at me. It felt as though his gaze were about to swallow me whole. I felt my hands starting to shake under the table, as sweat pooled on my palms. I tried to keep my expression calm and unreadable, as though I were mimicking the officer.

The detective then reached towards the recording button, pressing it.

"Please state your name and age." I hesitated. Not wanting to speak at all.

"Dorren...Yashfelt." I wanted to get this interview over and done with. The detective leaned back, examining my facial expressions, as though he were trying to figure out what I was thinking.

"And your date of birth?" He asked, his tone steady, and his gaze unwavering.

"April 15.... 2004." I muttered, my voice barely audible. The detective leaned in, while the officer stayed leaned back in his chair.

"Sorry, what was that?" I breathed in.

"April 15, 2004." I said, this time my voice louder and easier to understand.

"Okay then." The detective then started scribbling things onto his notebook, in which he pulled out. The pen movements were fast and steady. The officer shifted slightly in his seat, but his crystal-like eyes pinned me down, unblinking. I was nervous. Minute by minute, it was only getting worse.

"Now Dorren, start by telling us what happened tonight, why were you at the scene?" I paused. I didn't want to respond. My expression remained calm yet unreadable. I lowered my head, fidgeting with my fingers.

"Dorren?" The detective seemed confused on why I wasn't answering. I didn't care. I wanted to remain silent. I didn't want to talk about what had happened tonight; it was too much. He was my friend...

"Dorren, we're going to need you to answer the questions, so we can grasp a good understanding of what happened tonight." I looked up, the detective had a sweet yet empathetic look. I shifted my gaze to the officer. His eyebrows were raised, as though he were expecting an answer, a completely different sort of look compared to the detective. I felt something in my stomach starting to arise. Perhaps it was...the truth.?