I paced.
I paced around my steel prison until I could no longer stand on my own two feet.
My legs began to tremble as if I were a newborn calf attempting to walk for the first time. I retired my pacing for only a moment to rest.
I let out a huge sigh as I sat, rubbing my aching feet.
I do not know why I am here.
I was transferred to this holding cell a few weeks ago. One moment I am with my family, the next I am swiftly taken at the dead of night by these behemoths.
I found solace in pacing. I felt it was the only thing keeping my sanity intact.
So, I paced and paced and paced until I knew every corner, I knew every bar entrapping me in this hell hole.
It has become routine;
Wake up, pace, eat, pace, shit, pace, sleep, repeat.
There are days where pacing simply doesn't do jack-shit, and I snap.
I rattle the bars and yell in frustration to be released. "LET ME OUT OF HERE!" I would scream from the top of my lungs for hours on end until my voice would give out.
There would always be a loud quaking voice that would retort back. Usually, there would be more than one voice.
They spoke in a dialect that was alien to me. Their behaviours they exhibit outside my prison is far from ordinary.
When I openly mock them and their bizarre language, they begin to act cheery.
They would group around my cage as if I was some kind of freak show attraction.
Those giant staring eyes and gaping grins left me feeling uneasy that even pacing couldn't suffice.
I am afraid.
I am afraid I would never see my family again: my children, my wife. All whom I have loved would never see my face again as I slowly wither away in this godforsaken prison.
I am afraid of these foul, wrinkly creatures who believe my suffering is a form of entertainment.
The fact of the matter is, no matter how loud I yell, how much I mock them, spit at them, curse their names and their mothers who birthed them, things will remain the same.
I will still be trapped and they will bask in my suffering.
So I will not play their game.
No matter how frustrated or aggravated, I will bite my tongue and turn the other way. I will no longer give them the satisfaction of seeing me suffer any longer.
I no longer feel the need to pace, I will just sit here in silence and wait until I am released.
No one likes a bird who refuses to sing.
YOU ARE READING
My Prison
NouvellesIt truly is maddening when you know every inch, and every corner of a room but not know how to escape it.