“Sir, we are ready to release you,” the negotiator would say, “as long as you promise not to engage in political activity, for next five years.”
He was a political prisoner. Access to a window was one of the few privileges he was granted. His favorite pastime was to look outside. Wild plants, with scrawny stalks and a fuzzy head, growing for miles, would sway in breeze under a bright sunlit sky.
“One day, when I am free,” he had promised himself “I shall dance under the sky.”
These dancing plants reminded him of his happy and carefree childhood days.
“Five years?” looking at the field outside throught the window, he responded with surprise, “I shall lose my relevance!”
May be that was the unsaid intent. But he could not agree to sign his own oblivion. As expected window privilege was withdrawn. Then one day many years later, his release order came. He still had not forgotten his bygone dreams.
“What field?” the leader in his receiving party answered, “a new prison block has come up where there was an waste land before.”
Word Count : 183
Photo Credit : Morguefile
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