the cell of twenty seasons.
riddled with gusto and a nerve of uncertainty, what lay beneath was more than anyone could imagine. as the door pummeled open, a gust of wind brushed my ears and seared my eyes just as quickly as my lungs engaged it's last inhale--before pausing. like an air balloon, I rose to my feet and charged with a stance that only resistance would be pleased. lunging towards the guard within inches where my elbow would have met his abdomen, a striking physical reminder lashed my wrists as the clash of cold-pressed metal leashed my motive of freedom. my wrists were bound by cuffs. cuffs to chains. chains to wall. there I lay, peering through darkened strands of hair could I vaguely trace the outline of the guard's extremely well-kept black boots. the glimmer alone from what I could see was enough to send ripples of peristolic unease of not my body and it's inevitable course of punishment, but that ... of my sanity.