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Deep in the darkest corner of the Sundren jail rats scurry and skitter in the wee hours of the night.
They are not the only thing awake seeking something in the dark.
Kemnebi lay there rocking slowly to ease the pain that coursed thru his entire body.
The daily beatings until death were never fully healed. Tonight he could still feel the crack in the rib along his right side. He remembers clearly the plated boot that had sent that rib deep into his lungs. They stood the joked they laughed waiting as he drown in his own blood.
People are given the gift not to remember how they died and given that gift for a reason. Kemnebi remembers them all.
"Yes every one of them I recall some yes, some I see twice over as they rush me back to life ripping my spirit thru a void often faster then they let it slip away. IS THAT YOUR JUSTICE? Every one of them I keep."
The night watch can be heard somewhere above plated boots on slated floor. In the distance a gate closes. In the mind the walls of the prison grow higher as a gate to its center opens.
"I can?t see you but I know you are there. How you ask? They don?t know you yet I know you. How you ask? I know as you think before you do. Again you ask how? You ask so many questions small one. BECAUSE I AM YOU."
A bowl knocks against the cobbled wall and a rat runs for its hole.
Time is not measured in here in days. For no light penetrates this far. Time In a man?s mind is measured by relations by moments by DEATHS!
"One hundred and twenty four bricks are in that wall where my plate now rest beneath. I have touched each one. It takes sixty six paces for the guard to walk between gates above. I have heard each one. Thirty three faces have brought me death. I have seen each one."
"We all have a number. A way to relate one thing to another association of cause if you will. WHAT NUMBER ARE YOU. I know what number you are."
They are not the only thing awake seeking something in the dark.
Kemnebi lay there rocking slowly to ease the pain that coursed thru his entire body.
The daily beatings until death were never fully healed. Tonight he could still feel the crack in the rib along his right side. He remembers clearly the plated boot that had sent that rib deep into his lungs. They stood the joked they laughed waiting as he drown in his own blood.
People are given the gift not to remember how they died and given that gift for a reason. Kemnebi remembers them all.
"Yes every one of them I recall some yes, some I see twice over as they rush me back to life ripping my spirit thru a void often faster then they let it slip away. IS THAT YOUR JUSTICE? Every one of them I keep."
The night watch can be heard somewhere above plated boots on slated floor. In the distance a gate closes. In the mind the walls of the prison grow higher as a gate to its center opens.
"I can?t see you but I know you are there. How you ask? They don?t know you yet I know you. How you ask? I know as you think before you do. Again you ask how? You ask so many questions small one. BECAUSE I AM YOU."
A bowl knocks against the cobbled wall and a rat runs for its hole.
Time is not measured in here in days. For no light penetrates this far. Time In a man?s mind is measured by relations by moments by DEATHS!
"One hundred and twenty four bricks are in that wall where my plate now rest beneath. I have touched each one. It takes sixty six paces for the guard to walk between gates above. I have heard each one. Thirty three faces have brought me death. I have seen each one."
"We all have a number. A way to relate one thing to another association of cause if you will. WHAT NUMBER ARE YOU. I know what number you are."