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21:52
The dream was always the same. Grassland that reached beyond your sight, hills that formed and clumped together in the distance, with a stream that shone radiant from the sun.
And he would run across the grass, roll in it, jump into the stream and wade, laughing like a child, jumping and splashing, and then just keep running, running towards the hills.
At which point, he always woke up, and found himself chained to the floor. The rusty iron manacles that held him in his cell... the barred doors that lay behind him, and the small window that was before him.
Each day was always the same struggle. He would get to his feet, and try, PUSH, with all his might, so he could just peer, just see a glimpse of the outside world... see just for a second through that window. But he never could see. All the time telling himself, the metal was stretching, he had moved up a whole damn centimetre from yesterday... when the truth was he hadn't moved at all. All the work, the constant pressure... but he never saw out that window.
And he would fall asleep, dream again, the lush green grass, every now and again he would dream of a tree, a single tree... and he would lie under it, and chew the grass, before getting up again, and running for the hills.
Food and water came every other day. Not that he noticed. All he did was plead that they would release him, just for a second, they could whip him, kick him, do anything they wanted, as long as they could let him see out the window, if just for a second...
They could tie his hands, his legs, they could TAKE his arms and his legs... he didn't need them... he just needed to see, he needed to see the outside, the world, more to dream of.
But the man never said a word. He walked in, dropped the food and water, and left, locking the door behind him.
He would always eat though. Because tommorrow, he'd stretch the metal further.
One day, in his dream... he was splashing in the calm waters of the stream, when he was awoken. There was a lot of noise.
He couldn't really remember what happened, but a man came in, unlocked his chains, and told him to go with him.
The man got to his feet, and ran to the window... he looked out, and just stared in wonder.
Mud. Nothing but mud. There were a few cracks in the ground, there was a twig lying about fourty metres away... and that was it. Mud.
And so, sitting in a helicopter surrounded by marines and others that had been trapped in the prisons... he fell asleep, and for once, he dreamt something different.
He opened his eyes to see nothing but mud... mud in all directions. There was the twig, the broken branch that lay on the floor... the dry cracks that broke the surface in random places... and he smiled, and he ran... he ran across the mud, laughing and crying... and it was more beautiful than he could have imagined.
The dream was always the same. Grassland that reached beyond your sight, hills that formed and clumped together in the distance, with a stream that shone radiant from the sun.
And he would run across the grass, roll in it, jump into the stream and wade, laughing like a child, jumping and splashing, and then just keep running, running towards the hills.
At which point, he always woke up, and found himself chained to the floor. The rusty iron manacles that held him in his cell... the barred doors that lay behind him, and the small window that was before him.
Each day was always the same struggle. He would get to his feet, and try, PUSH, with all his might, so he could just peer, just see a glimpse of the outside world... see just for a second through that window. But he never could see. All the time telling himself, the metal was stretching, he had moved up a whole damn centimetre from yesterday... when the truth was he hadn't moved at all. All the work, the constant pressure... but he never saw out that window.
And he would fall asleep, dream again, the lush green grass, every now and again he would dream of a tree, a single tree... and he would lie under it, and chew the grass, before getting up again, and running for the hills.
Food and water came every other day. Not that he noticed. All he did was plead that they would release him, just for a second, they could whip him, kick him, do anything they wanted, as long as they could let him see out the window, if just for a second...
They could tie his hands, his legs, they could TAKE his arms and his legs... he didn't need them... he just needed to see, he needed to see the outside, the world, more to dream of.
But the man never said a word. He walked in, dropped the food and water, and left, locking the door behind him.
He would always eat though. Because tommorrow, he'd stretch the metal further.
One day, in his dream... he was splashing in the calm waters of the stream, when he was awoken. There was a lot of noise.
He couldn't really remember what happened, but a man came in, unlocked his chains, and told him to go with him.
The man got to his feet, and ran to the window... he looked out, and just stared in wonder.
Mud. Nothing but mud. There were a few cracks in the ground, there was a twig lying about fourty metres away... and that was it. Mud.
And so, sitting in a helicopter surrounded by marines and others that had been trapped in the prisons... he fell asleep, and for once, he dreamt something different.
He opened his eyes to see nothing but mud... mud in all directions. There was the twig, the broken branch that lay on the floor... the dry cracks that broke the surface in random places... and he smiled, and he ran... he ran across the mud, laughing and crying... and it was more beautiful than he could have imagined.
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21:52
The dream was always the same. Grassland that reached beyond your sight, hills that formed and clumped together in the distance, with a stream that shone radiant from the sun.
And he would run across the grass, roll in it, jump into the stream and wade, laughing like a child, jumping and splashing, and then just keep running, running towards the hills.
At which point, he always woke up, and found himself chained to the floor. The rusty iron manacles that held him in his cell... the barred doors that lay behind him, and the small window that was before him.
Each day was always the same struggle. He would get to his feet, and try, PUSH, with all his might, so he could just peer, just see a glimpse of the outside world... see just for a second through that window. But he never could see. All the time telling himself, the metal was stretching, he had moved up a whole damn centimetre from yesterday... when the truth was he hadn't moved at all. All the work, the constant pressure... but he never saw out that window.
And he would fall asleep, dream again, the lush green grass, every now and again he would dream of a tree, a single tree... and he would lie under it, and chew the grass, before getting up again, and running for the hills.
Food and water came every other day. Not that he noticed. All he did was plead that they would release him, just for a second, they could whip him, kick him, do anything they wanted, as long as they could let him see out the window, if just for a second...
They could tie his hands, his legs, they could TAKE his arms and his legs... he didn't need them... he just needed to see, he needed to see the outside, the world, more to dream of.
But the man never said a word. He walked in, dropped the food and water, and left, locking the door behind him.
He would always eat though. Because tommorrow, he'd stretch the metal further.
One day, in his dream... he was splashing in the calm waters of the stream, when he was awoken. There was a lot of noise.
He couldn't really remember what happened, but a man came in, unlocked his chains, and told him to go with him.
The man got to his feet, and ran to the window... he looked out, and just stared in wonder.
Mud. Nothing but mud. There were a few cracks in the ground, there was a twig lying about fourty metres away... and that was it. Mud.
And so, sitting in a helicopter surrounded by marines and others that had been trapped in the prisons... he fell asleep, and for once, he dreamt something different.
He opened his eyes to see nothing but mud... mud in all directions. There was the twig, the broken branch that lay on the floor... the dry cracks that broke the surface in random places... and he smiled, and he ran... he ran across the mud, laughing and crying... and it was more beautiful than he could have imagined.
The dream was always the same. Grassland that reached beyond your sight, hills that formed and clumped together in the distance, with a stream that shone radiant from the sun.
And he would run across the grass, roll in it, jump into the stream and wade, laughing like a child, jumping and splashing, and then just keep running, running towards the hills.
At which point, he always woke up, and found himself chained to the floor. The rusty iron manacles that held him in his cell... the barred doors that lay behind him, and the small window that was before him.
Each day was always the same struggle. He would get to his feet, and try, PUSH, with all his might, so he could just peer, just see a glimpse of the outside world... see just for a second through that window. But he never could see. All the time telling himself, the metal was stretching, he had moved up a whole damn centimetre from yesterday... when the truth was he hadn't moved at all. All the work, the constant pressure... but he never saw out that window.
And he would fall asleep, dream again, the lush green grass, every now and again he would dream of a tree, a single tree... and he would lie under it, and chew the grass, before getting up again, and running for the hills.
Food and water came every other day. Not that he noticed. All he did was plead that they would release him, just for a second, they could whip him, kick him, do anything they wanted, as long as they could let him see out the window, if just for a second...
They could tie his hands, his legs, they could TAKE his arms and his legs... he didn't need them... he just needed to see, he needed to see the outside, the world, more to dream of.
But the man never said a word. He walked in, dropped the food and water, and left, locking the door behind him.
He would always eat though. Because tommorrow, he'd stretch the metal further.
One day, in his dream... he was splashing in the calm waters of the stream, when he was awoken. There was a lot of noise.
He couldn't really remember what happened, but a man came in, unlocked his chains, and told him to go with him.
The man got to his feet, and ran to the window... he looked out, and just stared in wonder.
Mud. Nothing but mud. There were a few cracks in the ground, there was a twig lying about fourty metres away... and that was it. Mud.
And so, sitting in a helicopter surrounded by marines and others that had been trapped in the prisons... he fell asleep, and for once, he dreamt something different.
He opened his eyes to see nothing but mud... mud in all directions. There was the twig, the broken branch that lay on the floor... the dry cracks that broke the surface in random places... and he smiled, and he ran... he ran across the mud, laughing and crying... and it was more beautiful than he could have imagined.
Page: