She watched as he stood at the mouth of the door. Already, she could see him salivate at the taste of freedom. He seemed hesitant; with one foot in the prison and the other out of it. She wonders if he’ll leave. Her fingers unconsciously brush against the ring of keys at her side.
“Hurry, take it”, the voice said; thrusting the rusted key at his face. Hesitantly he took it. The cold metal felt foreign and hostile. “Take the first left at the end of this corridor. Hurry before she wakes. Good luck” He stared at his escape. One turn was all he needed to be free. “Hurry
Took the book from the shelf The title is one that I know well Brush the collected dust from its face See the imprint left in that void of space Listen to the satisfying crack of its spine Breathe in the scent of aged paper Feel each indentation made by the entombed words