He stared at her as she slept. This had been a regular pattern of his since he had been imprisoned.
She was beautiful. So beautiful, it ached his heart that she was spending her prime years in a grey box.
He leaned in to touch her hair and felt the grease rub off in his hands. Looking at her blonde hair and perfectly pink lips relaxed and free of the condescending expression, he took in her natural beauty.
He looked up at the ceiling with his back splayed across his share of the cold floor, he began to count the cracks in the ceiling.
But for some reason, the cracks resembled the innocent beauty who lay next to him.
YOU ARE READING
200 DAYS
Science FictionI was never afraid of death. I couldn't be. How could I be afraid of it when I'm as good as dead?
