I lay there, docile. My mind in a trance, yet i am still about to notice the sounds of preaching birds beside my window. The tones allude me to wonder what a being must feel to be free; to have a spirit restricted by only the spirit itself.
My thoughts are soon extinguished by the rattling of keys echoing down the hallway.
I give a smirk, but not one which resembles happiness.
Rather, it is an expression of helplessness.
The expression that can be seen in the faces of most of the prisoners here.
The smirk on my face perplexes the pig with the keys. The side of my mouth is extended further up my face as a result.
I hoist my body up to greet the slag, but am forced to retire due to the throbbing in my right leg. The pain however, does not tempt me to look at the mess from the other night. Despite protest, this torture is inevitable in this place.
I begin to become mused by the whistling of the birds in the tree. Who knew their music could hypnotise but the most 'crazy' of veterans.