The Dream

The morning came gently, slowly rousing him from a fitful sleep filled with childlike dreams of joy and wonder.  Lying in bed awake, but not fully out of the dream state, he listened to the sounds of spring calling to him.  There were birds loudly providing their own version of a clarion call, as if to shout "carpe diem!"

The previous day's rain was obvious as he listened to the stream behind the house gently arguing with her banks, as if challenging their authority.  He imagined he could even hear the silent admonishment of the banks.  He rolled over, and could feel how tangled in the sheets he had become.  The chilly morning caused him to pull the sheets up to his chin, and he could feel them squeezing around his neck.

Keeping his eyes closed, he struggled to return to his dreams, only to be further awakened by the smell of breakfast.  Grandma was hard at work in the kitchen again.  That meant Grandpa was on the front porch with his newspaper.  Knowing his grandpa would be taking his morning walk soon, he rolled out of bed to get dressed.  He could feel the cold floor with the tips of his toes, and seemed to be unable to move further.  Opening his eyes fully, he remembered, then quickly faded away.

Inmate number 22735 was dead.  Hanging from a bed sheet fashioned into a make-shift noose, his toes dragged the cold cement floor next to the steel bars.  He would hang there for another hour  until the morning chow call.
Uploaded 12/07/2011
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Tags: short story