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I got tired of nothing

Inner feels begin to rise to the surface and they penetrate through my rib cage. Tears fall almost rhythmically and without mercy. My body tenses in revulsion of the feelings. The blurred lights begin to only glow, losing all their flickering. The ground begins shifting and I realize the cave intentionally begins to loose its rock dirt, choicely leaving only a steady flow of mud running down the banks gathering into a pool around me. I notice the area of wall, that I had begun inspecting a while ago, begins loosing its Mache-like plaster in large chunks. A huge piece falls in a loud crash, jolting me from my spot.

Turning toward the wall I see a shining hinge, and a clear piece of what looks like the frame of a door and a large area of bright light emerging from the ragged triangle area of exposed…..light, piercing through what I can only surmise to be glass. The mud slide had abruptly stopped, no more churnings of water around the pool of mud, I stand in only the clarity of the light, now coming from both ends of the cave, one near the collapsed beam that delivered my letter, and the other one that seemed to be part of a door of glass.

I pull my hand to my check and realize my tears are dry, and the candles are fully ablaze again. The room dances with light. For a longtime, I study the corner of the door; then, my tired eyes fall downward. I see the cell with far greater detail, etched into the walls are the scrapings what resembles work done by my fingernails. The marks continue along a portion of the lower wall and then cease leaving a trail of the final marking to the floor, right next to the bolt in the wall that holds my chains. I don’t remember starting or stopping counting; I have ignored these markings for so long. Now, seeing the etched stone clearly, all my early struggles flood back. The countless nights of making the markings deeper, searching the cavern with weak eyes, the time I tried to escape, and the time I fell in exhaustion and stopped counting. It had to have been at least a decade ago, at least that long…..although I can’t pinpoint an age, day or time when I had stopped fighting and struggling, the markings sourly prove that it happen.

At least a lifetime ago, I let the darkened cavern become home.

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