"Let me out of here!" his screams echoed back to him, bouncing off the dull brown walls and dying out. He pounded hard on the iron bars that confined him, sweat glistening on his brow and mixing with tears on his cheeks. He could hear whispers, muffled voices from the other side of the wall, but no one seemed to hear him.It was a strange prison cell - there was no back wall. There was a corridor in its place. He felt exhausted, and the heat was unbearable. He swallowed large gulps of air; the only thought on his mind was escape. He ran down the corridor. His footfalls echoed loudly, startling him as he ran. For a moment, he thought there was someone running with him. He paused, but heard nothing. Wiping off some sweat, and after taking some more heavy breaths, he began to run again. He reached the end of the corridor, only to find another barred door.
Agonized, he fell to his knees and screamed. Screamed for the door to fall open. Screamed for the voices on the other side of the wall to hear him. Screamed for them to quiet down. Screamed, until his voice drained out and reduced to painful hiccups.
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The writer roughly crumpled another piece of paper and tossed it into the dustbin. His coffee sat on the table, unattended and cold, with brown scum collecting on top. He hated that, but he did not even notice it today. His protagonist was just not speaking to him. The sub characters behaved like they wanted to be heard, but the protagonist.
If the writer didn't know any better, he would have thought his protagonist was in some kind of a prison!Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com Please do not reproduce the material published here.
