The Cell

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Spoiled and smelly was the meat. I stared at it in disgust before tossing it away. Repulsive! How long, I wondered, had that foul piece of fowl been separated from the rest of its parts? How long since it had been split into pieces, roasted, and then sat? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? I doubted even months, but it was still thoroughly rotten. Then again, in this sort of a climate, it cannot be expected that things can be kept cold easily. There is no winter in which to go collecting ice to store in large warehouses, covered in sawdust, waiting for summer to be needed. I looked outside, through the bars of my cell, at the waving palms outside. Such lovely, lush country and I can only enjoy it from within a stone cell. However, I must interject that it IS cooler in here than in my hotel room. I fancy some homeless or hose already of criminal regard may even perpetuate crime in order to be caught- to thus have a place to be in the scorching midday heat. It is late afternoon outside- the world is colorful. But the window in my cell faces east. I get sun in the morning, not the evening, so I am woken my the sunÕs sharp rays long before I would normally do so. My windows at home all face west- in the bedchambers that is. I wonÕt say I dislike it though. There is something in rising early, to hear the gulls cry out along the beach and the waves crash on the sand- the sound is much more defined, more cheery and free than later in the day, when the ocean becomes monotonic and it is too hot for the gulls to do anything but huddle disgruntled, under whatever shade they can find. The only sound at midday is the agonizing beat of oneÕs own heart, struggling to push thick, sluggish blood through constricted veins. The light from outside has a white cast and everything is dulled and glazed over, not like now. Now the breeze is cool and it wafts in through the bars like incense, livening the cell with fresh, salt smelling air. I lean up against the cool stone, relaxed and at ease despite my predicament. What else can one do in such a situation except enjoy the perks that have come with it? Little else, I believe. The meat stinks in the corner, a blot on my otherwise rather delightful afternoon. It lurks in the corner like a mad rat forced to come into the light and reveal itself as the stinky, evil creature it is. I almost expect it to move, to scuttle away under the straw where it will slowly ooze its darkness into the entire cell. I hope they take it away soon- I much prefer the stale bread.





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