Captured Freedom Parts 1 and 2 (standard:drama, 1057 words)
Author: AAAAAAAhhhhh check it out	Added: Jan 20 2006	Views/Reads: 3381/2	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. 


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