He was locked up deep in a cellar and the key was thrown away.
He had screamed and shouted his innocence in court. No-one listened. He was being punished for a crime he never committed. Sure, he had thought about it. But he never acted on it.
In my books, that is the crime. But that was not why he was punished.
It was close to seven years now. For seven years, he was locked up in that dark and dingy cell. He saw others come and go. They never stayed long. Most were released on parole. The luckier ones were set free on bail and almost never turned up again.
"Who gave one man the right to be my judge, jury and executioner?" His prison echoed with his plaintiff cries.
He scratched and clawed on the walls, desperate to somehow leave his mark in this world. He wanted others to read his story, to know his plight. He did not want to die an anonymity.If he had a second chance ... what would he do? ... what could he do? His life flashed before his eyes so often. It was a story of chances thrown. He realised that nothings free, and certainly not freedom. He longed for what used to be ... For seven years he stared beyond his prison without seeing anything. In his minds eye, he saw the world changing, evolving, moving without him. Everything had changed. He would not. He could not accept a compromise. In the end, he decided to stay locked up.
So, one day, he lay down and got up no more. While the world dreamed on ...
