She was there. That was where she had lived for the last ten years. Along with all the other prisoners. Some would have already given in to their mind by that time. But not she. She had a mind as old as time itself. She heard the footsteps outside, just like everyday. And the words "This ones locked so it must be empty." She would normally have fought her mind and won but this time she couldn't. She screamed as loud as she could until she heard the lock turning in the door and the creaking of it opening. A large, old lady walked in with a tray of porridge. She scraped it into the prisoners mouth with a big wooden spoon. She strained against the chains, desperate to get every last drop. One of the few things she had sticked to throughout the years was to be strong, she disciplined herself to that by going days without food but something, whether it was the feeling of loneliness, loss or anger, again, washed over her today, causing her to act against her mind. She licked up the last drop of slop from the bowl and the lady left, forgetting her as soon as the door clicked shut. She sighed, knowing she would experience this again tomorrow and again the next day and so on and so forth. She thought about a song she once heard, a song about a rose. She thought about the last time she saw a rose. Almost 30 years ago. But, try as she might, the image had slipped. Everything had slipped. Slipped away from her, right through her fingers, no matter how tight she held on. She knew, in her dried up kettle of a mind, that soon her sanity would slip away too.
