Once Upon A Thread

4

There is an old saying that goes "If it can go wrong, it will." I have never been able to

prove this statement but I do know from bitter experience that if something can be wrong, then usually it will be.

I can accept that but I struggle with consequences of the aftermath. Time is a burden and a blessing all rolled into one. It's like trying to catch water in your cupped hands. When there is too much of it around you.

You are always reaching for more but sometimes you find yourself drowning because you cannot hold onto the water fast enough.

That's exactly what I'm doing in this prison.

Drowning.

The truth was staring me in my face, but I ignored it until now. My mind has been made up and I am going through with it no matter how hard reality tries to slap some sense into my brain.

One day I'm going to wake up and walk out of these doors. Straight into execution. These conditions are bearly tolerable to live in. My mind will slowly rot and I will be left with no choice.

I think about this for day's because time is all I have left here. Why not think about everything down to the micro detail.

The only repetitive question that rattle's back around. Is how long would I last on the prison yard?

Would I step foot outside and immediately be torn apart? Are the prisoner's here looking for a toy to slowly torture?

I sigh as the jangle of keys echo. Soon enough my evening meal tray is being pushed through. Instead of immediately taking the plate I stall for a second.

"You said I wouldn't last long with the other's. Exactly how long is that? How long would it take them to kill me?"

I ask him softly then pull my tray out. Stiffly walking back to my favored corner.

"It hasn't even been a full season of rotation. You're already set to throw yourself out to the beasts." He chastises me and the sound of jangling keys fading away signals his leave.

I'll take what he means is, it hasn't even been a full year. I would just like to know how long. Other then starving it's my only way out of here.

Sleep is a useless tool here. I close my eyes and my dreams cloud with memories. Of being cold, wet and hungry. Looking for a source of shelter. Keeping close to the outskirts of the city. I was lucky to find a crumbling old building.

Apparently no one wants to live by a space port. Their noisy and the force of them taking off. Shakes the surrounding earth. Sending vibrations to anything close.

I'm sure my home is nothing but a pile of rubble now. Broken down rubble that no one will even bother to clean up. Because the space and effort isn't worth it.

Just.
Like.
Me.