On Broken Spirit

..Fly,.. He said not knowing why- as he sat in the corner by himself. The slivers of light slid through the small barred window painting a stripe down the middle of the room- empty but for its corpse. This was his tomb, but he breathed and with every breath he plotted his flight. The bright stripe contorted and finally disappeared marking the suns daily demise. ..Fly,.. he said again not knowing why and then laid down on the hard cold floor. The walls rang with the screams of innocent. Scratches writhed along the walls where previous prisoners flung their claws in fury, or hopelessness. ..I am safe, the old man would come for me, and I will flee... he thought ..Fly,.. he said with a sense of satisfaction for he had solved his own riddle.

The old man never came, and light seemed to come and go- He looked up and saw the black ceiling, hunger worked its tiresome fingers throughout his weathered body. Only the small leak in the roof offered any consolation to his forgotten tongue. He spoke the word fly over and over, thinking it would save him. ..perhaps, fly.. he thought, ..somewhere gold and sea- without burdensome darkness.. his mind now lost uttered its last attempt to solve its existence.

The old man, slowly on his crippled leg followed another man with a grim cruel smile to the cell. and opened the door saying "I am happy that you have finaly paid your rent". The old man saw the poor bird with broken wings huddled in in its wooden box just as he had seen it before he was removed from his residence. He sat down and stroked its noble feathers, ..My friend I have come to take care of you, pray stay alive for nothing else, to live have I.. The bird, with broken wings lifted its weary head and happily said ..I shall fly...