Freedom

patrick-pilz-41237

Running through those narrow streets, he crossed colored doors, low ceilings, high chimneys, rugged walls, broken windows, playing kids, long screams, far dreams, defunct carriages, rusted spears, young but worn out and old but bright faces.

As he neared the ungaurded gate of the fort, he slowed. Panting, he was out of air. Looking at the far away horizon, he could not help smiling. He started walking out of the fort gates. Calm seemed to spread over his sullen face with every step he took. As he reached the edge of the cliff just outside the fort, he stood facing the vast sea in front of him.

Like waters of a calm lake beat the shore mildly, happiness was striking his soul. He was free now. Free as an albatross.

He heard the clamour. The crackling chariots, the cobbling horses, the shouts of the king’s men, the hue and cry of ladies and children scurrying for protection, gunshots. Sooner, it was in front of him in all its glory. The formidable numbers, the fierce weapons. the bloodshot eyes, the seething rage, the fiery desire to kill. He could see them all.

For some moments, a strange silence prevailed between him and the men. And then, he jumped. He jumped from the cliff. He jumped to his freedom with both of his hands wide open.

Running through those narrow streets, he was running from his own shadow, from his inner self. He was running to freedom.

 

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