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The Prisoners Exodus
The night is dark and within the walls of my cell, I lie awake plotting our escape.
The stars are countless in the cobalt sky, contained the metal bars, my mind churns impatiently.
The cells are quiet and the air is thick with anticipation held back by locked doors, we wait for a chance.
The malice of years, of throats parched for thirst, of feet sore and bleeding by cold rock, of ribs shown through for lack food, of cheeks long gone unshaven, of humanity almost lost. Now has awakened.
The world sleeps but behind musty stone, the prisoners stir.
The nightingale sings, the sign, and the inmates are silently jubilant.
The guards fall limp necks broken, now it is time.
The keys jingle dimly; our freedom is now at hand.
The cell doors creak, gates once locked now reluctantly released their prey of many years.
The prisoners are free, quiet slaps of bare feet on stone and controlled breathing as they quietly go about liberating each of us one at time.
The rusty hinges groan and light spills into the solitude of my cell my eyes so used to darkness can barely withstand the brightness; I am at last free of my iron cage.
The guards lie glassy-eyed, now forevermore unable to cry out that we have escaped.
The iron resists, but cannot withstand our insatiable will as we push to free the others.
The rustle of garments, hushed whispers, all our brethren are unshackled from the chain.
And so we begin our exodus.
The Prisoners Exodus