Fellow-Man - Hadi Garib (summer books .txt) 📗

It wasn't meant to be this way. The clouds had long dissipated marking the onset of serenity, and yet, the heavens rumbled. They say man is a victim of his own surroundings, and yet, what ill had he done? It was supposed to be a brief sojourn; a victory lap celebrating the onset of adulthood; somehow, that journey had transcended into a prison that had no escape.

Confined within four walls, his yearn steadily wilting away like the stream he could hear in the distance. His potential, ever-present, and yet, like that very stream, not seen. Any instance of resurgence, shot down; the notion, ill to his captives. Suddenly, that stream flowed no more; or so it seemed.

Within his cell he heard far worse; women raped; children put to the streets; working men put to the sword; where was this civilized world that he had long yearned for? Was he a captive, or a royal crown? Would he rather be regressed, or transgressed? Free speech was not to be found; democracy, a farcical entity at best. He questioned Plato; he mocked Socrates; and yet, he lauded Dante. A philosophy evolving around the notion of unison, that very string to which he had long held on to in search of sanity, was the key to his shackles. Just as the heavens rumbled, he let out a burdensome sigh; a slap across his face; a blood-curling scream; the last that he heard that night.

Awoken by the solitary ray of light that seeped through the crack in the ceiling, he found himself soaking in his own blood; that bump on his head, analogical to his captives demand that logic never be set alight.

As he drudged through the iota of sloth that represented his daily meal, he realized that he wasn't alone. It wasn't him against the world; there were surely others like him, or so he hoped. And yet, would an escape be mutiny, or freedom? Truth be told, did he really want to escape into the world that he had heard above the stream?

His body ached; cringing for freedom; his mind, racing at a million miles an hour. Having long lost count of the days, his will had returned; he would wait for the day that he ran into others like him; his fellow-man. A notion that brought a smirk around his face; it had been years since he had used that term; 'fellow-man' he chanted under his breath, in what attuned to a melodic rhythm. He was soon sound asleep, leaving nature to help him recover from his wounds.

Publication Date: 11-18-2011

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