|Captured Freedom Parts 1 and 2 (standard:drama, 1057 words)|
|Author: AAAAAAAhhhhh check it out||Added: Jan 20 2006||Views/Reads: 2019/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|It's about a woman in prison who writes all this interesting stuff in her journal. Specific, huh? Just shut up and read it.|
Introduction I see this pen in front of me and I am compelled to write. I guess I always have been. I have this drawing to, a need, to write. But unfortunately, I only have it sometimes. This need comes only with opportunity and idea. When I have nothing to do but write. During classes, while a bright flash of lightning shoots across the dark sky and cuts off our electricity. I sit there in the dark with only the dim light of a candle to guide my pen to the paper. After that, I need no light to know what I'm writing. An inevitable fantasy in my mind has been shouting itself out ever since I thought the idea up. But the thing is I've learned to ignore it. The truth is, my mind thinks up a new story every hour or so. All I must do is let them out. Open my fingertips and let the story flow out onto the page. Captured Freedom Here now I sit, again. In the dark, but by default. No storm has taken the light. It has left on its own. Chased out by the demons of the night, the ones that lurk around every corner, just waiting. They prod us to confess, give in, so that we must be stuck forever in the darkness, just like them. I sit in this small, damp cell smelling of manure and rotted flesh and wonder how much longer I can hold out. They bother me too, placing false memories in my mind to convince me that I did it. But I didn't. I see visions of beauty too though. Visions that come only from the remembrance of the light. Visions that soon will fade, and I will remember them only vaguely, as the remembrance of a toy I was fond of as child. They've captured me here again. Trapped me in a corner like some dead rat, gawking at me. I suppose that's what we all are here. Trapped and cold...guilty alone, staring at each other from cell to cell. We stare and stare and think we're the only innocent ones in this hellhole of a place we ended up in, but really we're all innocent. Almost every one of us. But we do what we can to look guilty, because the real guilty ones will eat us alive if they know who we really are...what we really are. I'm a dead rat trapped in the corner with only one way out...death. But I swore when I first got in here that I wouldn't wander that road. Naïve and brave, I walked among them like a hero, nay, a goddess of theirs. I wasn't guilty. And they all were. Like that light I once spoke of. Not only has it faded, but completely gone out now. Blown out like a weak candle in a howling wind. I thought love was something that could never be taken away, that would remain inside you forever, no matter where you ended up. Oh, once again how naïve of me. There is no love. Only emptiness. No feelings at all exist in this barren world that I now live in. No remorse, regrets, or pain. I suppose that's the up side to all of this torture. No pain. Oh, how I remember pain, like a shotgun against your shoulder, it split through everyone, leaving no one untouched. The raspy, cold voice surprises me even now, after so long. No one talks here, with nothing to talk of. We only sit and think. And write, I write too. The life sentence is upon me. Oh, how I pray to God that they give me death instead. Nothing could be more stolid than being here for eternity, too long to even imagine with the limited human mind. Eternally stuck, apathetic and dead, without contact to anything or anyone who isn't exactly the same. What I wouldn't give to be depressed. But I don't even have that option anymore. My worst fear has become a reality. I have been sentenced with life. With this turn came the plunge downward. I have now fallen further than the depths of Hades. Satan tried to grasp my hand, but missed as he often does. A darker force pulls me downward now; something much stronger and wiser than Livid Lucifer. A force called life. I feel captured here. Like a wild bird that was never meant to be caged. I get no letters and send none. For what is there to say but that I am here? Others write for visitors, yet I want no one to see me in my most deplorable and agonized state. People tend to get emotional in instances such as those, but, as I have been stripped of my emotions, my understanding would be less and my annoyance more. Why can I not be left in my solitary corner with no predators that have come to hunt me down? Why will no one leave me be? They come and shine the light into my eyes as if they mean to cause me anguish. I should be left to die. It has been too long. But even those who pity me wouldn't do me that courtesy. I need not their empty sorrow, but if it were to kill me, I would gladly take that poison. I have witnessed scenes far too gruesome for any gentle-souled person. I think they are afraid of me. It is as if they are beings that belong only in the darkness and I am the light. But why then do I feel so dark? I have not yet found a solitary companion of the light. It is perhaps because I am not really of the light, it is only a projection. Or perhaps there are none other witnesses of truth within these walls. There were innocents, but they have been made guilty. There were weaknesses, as we all have, but they were treated as flaws. Irreparable mistakes with punishment worse and further than my primitive mind will take me. I fear I will not be able to write for much longer. I will become mentally incapable, as many here already have, as I am fed to the dark ones. They fear me, but loathe me. My blood would taste sweet on their tongues. Tweet
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