Escaping Death
Escaping death
One stroke, two stroke… the powdery chalk crumbled into pieces as I stroked a line over the hideous and foul-smelling walls of the jail which have never been cleaned. I’ve lost count of the days I have been captured in here. I’m guessing I would have reached the hundreds, although it feels like thousands. Outside my cell I couldn’t hear the distant sounds of the never ending ticking of clock, tick-tock, tick-tock… time was passing by. I could just make out what the time was as I pressed my cheeks along the cold metal bars and the coldness sent me shivers down my spine. Locked up and isolated, there was no place to escape anymore.
Outside my little cubicle was the familiar looking jail guard which I faintly recall his name to be ‘Leonardo’. He stood out there for hours guarding the cells and to this very day I still don’t understand how he would want to be captured inside this place of doom when he had the choice to roam free as he was innocent. I stared at him as he stared back, he showed no hint of emotions, I don’t recall one single time or moment when we showed any emotions are all, maybe he was emotionless, or maybe, just maybe, he has experienced much more than I have. I stared at him for quite some time and through his naked eyes, I felt a sense of sadness within him. Did the other criminals around my cell feel the same way about him or were they too busy counting the days of their release?
Maybe I’ve been here for so long and I’ve started to familiarise myself with this cubical and began to feel a sense of acceptance to this place over time. But sometimes I questioned myself, where and who do I belong with? I left it there and snoozed off to sleep, what more was there to do.
I began to dream… I was back in my old home where my wife, Rose, and our daughter, Annabella, were once living. We were a loving family but the joy did not last. On a cold, windy afternoon, we were alarmed by soldiers coming to invade our village. Our fear was
One stroke, two stroke… the powdery chalk crumbled into pieces as I stroked a line over the hideous and foul-smelling walls of the jail which have never been cleaned. I’ve lost count of the days I have been captured in here. I’m guessing I would have reached the hundreds, although it feels like thousands. Outside my cell I couldn’t hear the distant sounds of the never ending ticking of clock, tick-tock, tick-tock… time was passing by. I could just make out what the time was as I pressed my cheeks along the cold metal bars and the coldness sent me shivers down my spine. Locked up and isolated, there was no place to escape anymore.
Outside my little cubicle was the familiar looking jail guard which I faintly recall his name to be ‘Leonardo’. He stood out there for hours guarding the cells and to this very day I still don’t understand how he would want to be captured inside this place of doom when he had the choice to roam free as he was innocent. I stared at him as he stared back, he showed no hint of emotions, I don’t recall one single time or moment when we showed any emotions are all, maybe he was emotionless, or maybe, just maybe, he has experienced much more than I have. I stared at him for quite some time and through his naked eyes, I felt a sense of sadness within him. Did the other criminals around my cell feel the same way about him or were they too busy counting the days of their release?
Maybe I’ve been here for so long and I’ve started to familiarise myself with this cubical and began to feel a sense of acceptance to this place over time. But sometimes I questioned myself, where and who do I belong with? I left it there and snoozed off to sleep, what more was there to do.
I began to dream… I was back in my old home where my wife, Rose, and our daughter, Annabella, were once living. We were a loving family but the joy did not last. On a cold, windy afternoon, we were alarmed by soldiers coming to invade our village. Our fear was