My Prison

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.