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Life in Solitary confinement

The old-one awoke to the clanking of keys. The smell of stagnant water and mold the Aroma of putrid citrus maybe oranges the old-one thought permeated the cell block. These smells turned his stomach he turned over, buried his face in the tattered frayed bed linens, and gagged his way back to sleep.

The days slipped by counted only by the setting sun. The days became weeks. The weeks became months. The months became seasons. The old-one counting by seasons now all sense of time lost.

Food passed in, the tray sent out, the clank of keys. The locking and unlocking of doors and the old-one sat. The old one’s melancholy hung on him like the fog. His mind numb, time just stopped, his life just stopped. He still breathed, his heart still beat, his body went through the daily motions, but the old-one just quit living, he was beaten, he was tried, he looked through his tired old eyes at all of his despair, pain, and sorrow. He sat he waited.

On the 5th day, although, it seemed an eternity, the nobles interviewed him. He learned that even to resist a beating, self-protection; he was as guilty as the young rogue who beat him. Now the old-one would wait while the nobles took their time before his trial to decide his fate.

The old-one, he looked deep into himself. He saw the freckle faced kid whose blue eyes sparkled in the light of the day. The young one laughed, showing his missing front teeth. He saw for the first time the love and trust, and the eagerness to explore the young one had within him. He saw the quest and thirst for knowledge the kid had. He laughed and played, he was amazed at the world around him. He chased a butterfly, blew a dandelion flower in the winds watching it float away. The kid was full of love and trust the child knew how to love and he knew what sorrow was for his age of five. The young child was happy. The old-one also saw the young child cry in pain from the hurt and the broken trust.

The old-one looked into the child’s eyes and he learned to cry, and he cried for long lost hurts and pains. The abuse the child endured for so long, the hurt, which had killed the child within. Again, he looked into himself; he saw the lifeless hollow black eyes and the emaciated body of the child that remained within him. The old-one died a little more that day, just as he had done a thousand times before.

The old-one learned of the fate of the bronze-skinned one he had befriended. The bronze-skinned one had died that fateful day in November, and the old-one felt his soul die a little more from the loss of his friend.

As the old, one sat looking through the cell bars feeling sorry, a feeling, which was not at all a common feeling for him. Through the bars, he saw, night had fallen. The artificial lights of the compound washed over him in an eerie bath of yellow-blue-white light. The old-one stared into it and saw visions he had never seen before.

That night the old-one discovered that after five and a half decades, he had nothing to show for his time or his ill-spent time in this world. What was the plan for him his destiny, or as others would say God’s plan, he didn’t know which. He did not believe in God. He would rather leave his fate to chance, or leave it to the luck of the draw.
Was he remain unknown and forgotten? On the other hand, was he to be famous or even infamous, only time would tell what his fate would be? He had yet to fulfill his destiny.

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