The Prisoner

As the sun heads up to cross the horizon my eyes bore into its burning glow. It peeks through the buildings and washes down the threatening glimmer of the sky that keeps me up at night.

As I stare through the window the prickling sting in my eyes grows sharper. Time stretches, drawn-out and endless, on the surface of the dust gathered on the glass.

Move! Move! What are you doing?

The dog barks right underneath my window. It snaps me out of the void created by the reticence in my head, like every early morning.

My eyes fall down to the clock. The ominous red of the numbers tells me it is six in the morning. Again.

You promised . . . you promised you would make it!

It isn’t long until the time strikes and the alarm goes off.

The sound, a sturdy reminder of my downfall, sinks heavy in my ears. I reach to shut it down, fingers trembling as they press the button.

It is a haunting dejavu of countless mornings, visiting its fellow inmate. It recurs with a familiar sensation of helplessness, as the last echo hits the wall.

It is all the same all over again . . . . Will you ever change?

The room goes back to silence. With my hand still on the clock, my whole being itches with a strange and chronic urge. It aches with longing to seek out the trapdoor and crawl out of this captivity.

This captivity has a lot of names and forms, to me it is something they are kind enough to call one’s mind.

As the minutes go up, unapologetic and resolute, my mind struggles to keep up. In an attempt to escape the fast and steady passage of time I avert my gaze.

Just look at you . . . why?

As I look through the room my gaze catches on the pile of laundry, sprawled all over the floor. It glares at me, judges even. I feel my chest burn. It burns slow and in anguish, taking its sweet, sweet time and sinks down my guts, uncomfortable and thick. My chin trembles.

Hunched over my bed I remain a weeping statue in a cemetery, dwelling on its deepest regrets.

Do something, anything! Get out!

White noise builds up inside my head.

My limbs are heavy and my body beaten and deflated, as I toss the blanket off my lap. I walk towards the window, movements painfully slow as I swing the creaking window open. 

The backyard feels distant, beyond the grasp of my hands.

I could reach out, feel the fresh air on my skin but then again, my body goes stiff all the same. I do not dare to move. In silence I inspect the impalpable barricade between me and the transcendental reign.

It is so easy, why don’t you ever just do it?!

A car races by.

The revving engine catches my heart in my throat. I shuffle backwards, stumbling and crashing on the floor. Thump.

My gaze meets messy curls, dangling over sad, brown eyes. They carry dark and shallow circles underneath – badges of honor, a tribute of a long serving guard.

I face the reflection of somebody I hardly recognize. A queasy feeling lodges itself in my throat and sticks.

You have the keys, don’t you? You have had them all along and yet you never did a thing . . . .

You do know why, right?

That is because you are wort-

A high-pitched scream reaches my ears much later. The sound of shattering glass scatters against the ceiling; red patches on a broken mirror stare at me.

I feel trapped in my own skin as the walls around me get smaller and smaller and smaller.