étincelle

You stare outside the window. The bleak, grey window. You have memorized each tiny speck of dirk and have drawn pathways through it. You're following one now with your finger while the sunshine tries to seep into your dirty window. They tell you many times a week to let them clean it for you. Let the sun really shine through. But you refuse. You figure if you're suffering the sun might as well too. But recently as you stare out the window you are starting to wonder how you can clean the dirt off. A cool, special way. A way to get all the other inmates to come and watch. You don't want to clean it with soap and water. You want it to be amazing. You want the people in here to believe you are not a murderer. Not some insane psychopath that everyone else cooped up in here is. So one day you go to the counter and ask the nice lady in white behind it for a match. She asks if you want a cigarette to go with it. You shake your head. You go back into your room, if you can call it a room; a cement walled in space with one iron bed and a filing cabinet for clothes bolted to the ground isn't much of a room and there isn't much room for inspiration. You stand there in the middle of the room. The longer you stand there the long you come to the realization that you cannot clean the window. You cannot make the sunlight come in from the outdoors. Why would it want to shine in on your room? Your room which is dark and grey, just like the dirt that fills the window. Still wanting the sunlight in your room you strike the match on your cement wall. Taking a great breath you see the spark. Holding it close to your face you look deep into the little spark, one breath and it would be out. But you don't want that. You gently pick up the base of your tan colored shirt and ignite it. You take a deep breath as you feel the warmth from the spark spread onto you. But wait, no. It's not a spark, its the sun, in your cell. Finally. The last thing you hear is sounds of footsteps, people trying to get into your cell, inmates, people who never cared about you anyway. The spark, the sun has taken you away.

January 26, 2011