prison break

After being recaptured, they made me shower in cold water, wash myself with plain, scentless soap, rinse and repeat. Then, they shaved my head. I guess they do this drill over and over to dehumanize me, to break me. But this was all expected, all good. I guess it is hard to take someone’s soul away when they are already soulless. After that, they sat me on a cold metal chair, a bare room – two identical chairs, a table, a lamp and white walls that have seen and heard, maybe, one too many bad things. However, there they are, solid, brick and mortar, unaffected by confessed sins and tears. They stand, we sit and that’s pretty much it for many hours. They stare. They wait, in silence. After that, they ask me how could I change, how could I betray my beliefs and country, how could I take this steep curve and turn my back on everything that I used to stand for – justice, peace, morality. My only answer is time. Maybe desperation too, I can barely remember now. I don’t tell them, but of course that there is hope – the thin, fragile hope – of grasping at straws, for there is nothing left for me, in my 2 by 2 cell, than the belief in the possibility, the sheer thought of escaping, of once again, newfound freedom. They ask me how I did it, how could I. Little do they know that I’d chew my own hands of to never again feel the handcuffs, how I’d cut and saw to get rid of shackles. Killing isn’t pleasure, but necessity. They seem shocked, not by my words, but by their own stupidity, by falling for the betrayal, the con. I guess that they seem shocked by their on belief, the one in the smoke and mirrors game that is played, by the theater of convincing. They are too naive, too raw. Nothing do they know about the moving power of the spoken word to a prisoner, the strength of the idea, of the expectation of going somewhere else, of finally becoming free.

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