Prisonhouse

16.12.2023 16:25
Spoločnosť

Autor : Naďa Gažovičová, Gymnázium Ivana Kupca, Komenského, Hlohovec

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It was a chilly, winter day, or was it a night? I didn’t even know. The snow was falling and the wind was blowing and howling so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts. The prickles of snow hitting my face were like needles cutting my skin. Piercing into me, freezing me to my core.

I’ve been walking for so long I didn’t even feel me feet. I just knew they were moving, so I must’ve been moving forward. After a while, I noticed footprints in front of me. Suddenly, a sliver of hope sparkled inside of me. ’I’m not here all alone..’, I thought to myself.

I started walking all around the place erratically, looking for any sign of life, anything. I was growing more and more desperate. The warming feeling of hope dissipating from me...slowly, but surely. The all-consuming cold creeping into my very bones once again.

But I couldn’t stop now. No, I just could’t. Not after all those torturing days in this prisonhouse. But then, out of the blue, my feet froze in place...more footprints. I fell down to my kneels, observing them desperately. But then I noticed it. The pattern of the sole. They were the same as my boots have...they...they were my own footprints. And I’m walking in circles. All alone...forever...