A New Need for Escape

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Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.
– William Ernest Henley, Invictus

The only thing left of the new day was the sunlight filtering through the dark, blood red, window stained glass. Everyday there was nothing new to that glass; no dirt, no mess, no blood, no real color to make it pop and stand out. But everyday there was nothing left to look through, just a dark hole in the end blending into the ash black wall .

He picked the book back up out of the shelf, the same one he read every day in this hell hole. There was nothing else given to him. How could he survive without this one little page turner, splitting at the seams. It grounded him, rooted him to the ground like a pole. Made sure his sanity didn’t fly away with him.

“You are powerful but your not god, you have no control over the miserable lives of men. Don’t ever think your responsible for the death you cannot prevent, don’t place that burden on your shoulders, you’ll never come out from under it. Its too much for any mere mortal to have.”

He could almost hear the voices. Strong; unyielding, even when they cried out from a place filled with tears and wrath. They called out to him and as long as he had that head on his shoulders he couldn’t help but feel they would always be with him, forever. Probably the only thing that could make him smile in his bare spartan room.

The book wasn’t as good as many others he had read over the years, but weeks in this place and with this the only book he had, he now found it his favorite. Yet it also represented every moment he spent in his captivity with this book his only companion. He chose to love the only thing he had, rather than throw it away any time soon. He couldn’t afford to throw it away.

The story depicted inside and the heroes that called for justice, the people that had been uplifted from tyranny, the villains beaten and never to be found. The book didn’t give him hope like he wanted it to, no it reminded him or his family, of his life before, of his loving wife. Well, she didn’t love him enough not to sell him out.

They never told him why he was here, they never told him where he was exactly, they never told him why they took him, only who sold him out. He didn’t even know who they were. There were so many questions to ask and no answers at all. All he knew was that his lovely wife had gotten something out of him being here, he didn’t care to know what. the monotone of the days were only broken when he first got here and he had to go through test and tests, still not knowing what they wanted from him.

Now they only came to give him food and slide it through the hole in the wall, he was left to his own devices and nothing more happened to him. That day was no different, he wanted the people to come back and he wanted to just fall into his book and the story and never come out. He only got one of his wishes.


They watched as the man laid back down on his bed and started to reread his book, they took notes on his condition and didn’t interfere. They watched until the screens suddenly started to black out one, by one. the image of the man no longer being projected onto the screen. Some of them started to panic, others called the guards.

Only one reached his cell in time to watch the red light of the sunset stop reflecting off the wall, to watch the window become a dark abyss. A wife of one year watched as the newly-written-off-as-deceased husband faded like a ghost as the light faded from the room, plunging it into a deep black.

Shock started to grip her heart. Part of her was panicking and incoherent, but she was calm if enraged and calculating. She turned to the statue still guard beside her, her lips thinning and her face hiding a pale, calm rage.

“Find him. What ever it takes.” The guard didn’t answer her but instead started to move, back down the pristine corridor to the multiple doors and bars and traps.

The woman stood there, hanging in the door way and staring into the pitch black room. Her eyes catching onto the little shapes in the dark and the shifting shades of black. She didn’t say anything, but a quiet triumph went through her. She was right in every back deal, every phone call and every decision she made regarding her terribly different husband.

She was right and it scared her.