Time had halted ages ago. The filtered light through the reinforced window the only sign that life still existed. The rays create colored rainbows and sometimes, when she looks hard enough she sees a bird soar past. A desire for freedom rises once again within her shriveled bosom.
Voice cords long broken from screaming herself hoarse, from days to months to years and decades, she knows that no one cared, for no one came.
No sound filters in, no sound leaks out. This concrete walls covered in etchings of her mindless rambling. Pleading with the jailer to do away with her, to end the madness of the dementia, but he preferred to keep her.
Each day he comes with scrapes to keep her alive.
Each day he reads to her and combs her unruly long locks with trembling hands.
Talking to her in yet another soothing manner. Reminding her of the years that belonged in another life.
Her strength has grown feeble over incarcerated years, her limbs long waxed and waned from disuse, her only strength, are the spurious thoughts of her mind. She always waits for the imaginary one to come. To talk to her, to caress her itchy scalp and drive her round in the imaginary car.
The twinge of the iron latch, breaks through mad reverie and he walks in softly, bearing warm oats and a comb.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to Writing 101 assignment 4: A story in a single image