The Prisoner

In a castle perched upon a lake, a troubled soul dwelled within its dungeon. 

From where the prisoner sat, a window high upon the grimy wall could be seen. A weak beam of sunlight penetrating the dark was cut in half by the single iron bar that made escape a far-fetched fantasy. The path of light ended barely a foot from the hunched figure. In desperation, he attempted to shed his oppressive cloak of darkness and shuffled towards the beam. But alas; cold metal shackles halted his advance. The prisoner let out a low moan. Suddenly manic, he strained against the chains like a wild beast, ignoring their chaffing hold on his neck. Wet, greasy hair slapped on his face as his toes clawed at the filthy stone floor. As suddenly as it had started, the cries of the prisoner stopped and his frenzy came to a halt. Silence, save for the faint tinkle of his chains and the shuddering pants of the prisoner, ensued once more. All hope evaporating, he resumed his hunched position against the wall of the dungeon, head turned away from the tantalizing beam. 

Barely a minute had passed, when the silence was disturbed by the scraping of a key in a rusty lock. At the opposite end of the dungeon, a door swung open and two men entered. One wrinkled his nose and said something the other. The man who had wrinkled his nose began making his way towards the prisoner, while the other stepped into a separate alcove of the dungeon. 

The man, obviously a prison guard, stepped into the beam of light and regarded the figure huddled in the dark. His despise for the unwashed form blacked with grime and surrounded by rotting stench was shown clearly by the grimace upon his visage. Nonetheless, he leaned over to undo the shackles of the prisoner. But instead of rejoicing, the prisoner feebly attempted to resist, for he was no simpleton; he knew his fate. However, it was no use. With ease the guard removed the chains and lifted up the condemned man by his arm that was barely skin and bone. 

The man's body was limp as the guard dragged him towards the alcove like a sack of potatoes. In the centre of the alcove was a small wooden platform. A noose, tied to a metal bar lodged in the ceiling was suspended above the platform. It swung with an agonizing slowlness, hypnotizing the prisoner who despite realizing his fate, could not prevent fear infecting his body like poison.  

But once propped upon the platform, the scratchy rope tight around his neck, the prisoner calmed his violent shivers and closed his eyes. He closed his eyes to the leers of the guards and the desolate dungeon. Instead his mind wandered to the world outside the single barred window. He saw the smooth, sparkling lake, its stillness disturbed only by the paddling of swans. He saw the pure blue sky and the golden sunlight that he knew existed outside of the dark dungeon. But the slight curl of a smile adorned his lips as he saw the mountains that surrounded his home. They stood like "palaces of nature"* across the lake, dark blue in colour and decorated with veins of snow. He knew their everlasting presence existed outside the thick walls of the castle, and their beauty gave him a small sense of sanction. 

The guards however, saw only a man on death's doorstep, the noose and the frescoes upon the walls of the alcove, frescoes that depicted holy scenes; Christ in crucifixion. Perhaps they were a final attempt at religious amendment for the condemned. 

A rough grunt was spoken by one of the guards. The other nodded, and with one smooth movement, pushed a lever that opened the base of the platform. The swinging body of the man was the only movement, and the crack of his neck was added to thousands of others imbued within the memory of the dungeon of the castle perched upon a lake. 

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*This is a poetry reference to English poet Lord Byron. The story is set in Chateau de Chillon, a medieval castle perched on lake Geneva, Switzerland. Lord Byron himself was imprisoned here at one point. Graffiti of his name survives on the wall of the dungeon.