Wednesday, October 20, 2004


I am locked in a prison cell. The other inmate is dead. Though I pound on the door and the wall and the floor, scream until my throat bleeds, no one comes. I'm like the Count of Monte Cristo, only he escaped. Someone has thrown away the key; am I the one who did? At some point the putrefaction will cease and only skeleton remain, but how long will that take? Will I grow so used to the stench I no longer care? Will this death kill me too? I can hear the rats approaching. I think I shall lose my mind with their gnawing. Let me out. I yearn for fresh air and the light of day. I want to be free--of the cell, of the darkness, of the dead one in chains next to mine. Shall I continue to call, longing for someone to hear and rescue me? I am a prisoner of hope.


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