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The room

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The room The faint smell of sulphur lingers on the warm, dank air. The repeated drone of hammer on steel fills the sand stone walled room. A ray of light shines in from a small slit high in the ceiling. A defeated man sits slumped in the corner beating a crooked scimitar into shape, his legs bound with cast iron shackles, scarred with the mark of his possessor, his captor. These four rundown stone walls, cold and bare were his residence, his place of rest. They were all he had seen, smelt and breathed for as long as he could remember, and they would be, for as far into the future as he could dream. These four walls told a story, a story that he would rather forget. ...read more.


The remains of the room hold little relevance to him anymore, the teasing door, sturdy and wooden, the barren floor, sandy and damp, and the forever closing walls scratched with the days gone by, a calendar of his solitude and torment. His bed nothing more than a sprawl of soiled hay, alive with spiders and lice. His toilet nothing more than a bucket, festering with faeces. Dusk now starts to creep on the room. The scene is set for a twilight nightmare like so many before. Darkness sets, the moon and stars cast tiny speckles of light, where many nights has he spent gazing upon on the heavens from his confine, but tonight his desperation to be free catches up with him, he starts to lose control, a blind rage seizes him, he begins to howl, a last cry for help. ...read more.


The wall starts to become thinner and so does his strength, but his will and determination remain strong. He now beats the wall to a rhythm, a song of his impending emancipation from slavery, fuelled by his dreams and desperation. At last he breaks through, a tiny hole he can stare through into the outside world, all is dark and all he can see is an eternal gloom. He carries on with the wall. The hole, now big enough, he sticks his head into the unknown, a thunderous howl now lingers on the air. All hope is lost, all will to live is lost and all thought of freedom became futile. His cell is many floors up and any attempt at escape has become impossible. Christian Vickerman ...read more.

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