The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.


“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 what are you waiting for? She is going to wake”

Memories of torture flood his mind; his fingers traced the wounds on his flesh – the only souvenir from that vicious whip of hers.

He is but skin and bones; malnourished from the diet of watered-down broth.

He pushed the key back between the bars, listen to it clang against the cold floor

“What are you doing? Are you mad?”

I am mad, he whispers as he curled up in his dark corner once more.

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