The Prisoner's Cell

I don't know what triggered it. The light that swings back and forth  from the low hanging ceiling as if someone stretched out and taped it with their middle finger. As it swings, it creaks and groans- as if it's tempted to come crashing down and drive me into the ground. I jump up and try to grab it- to keep it from dancing wildly above me- but find it just out of reach; how wonderfully original. 
Not bright enough to keep me awake, not dark enough to release me into sleep, the light above continues to drive me mad- but this hardly compares to the walls that feel so close I feel as though I am drowning in my own breath. 
I stretch my hands out to my sides, forming a tall cross with my small body and try to inhale and summon that so-called 'inner peace,' but choke on my own saliva and find myself coughing and wheezing and curled up on the cool cement floor. I reach out in front of me and trace the ground with my pinky, allowing small bits of rubble wedge themselves beneath my nails. I think back to how I arrived to this moment in time- I assume it must have been something I did, or maybe something that I failed to do. Theories of a life thought to be well-spent spin in my head, refusing to stop until I smack my cold palm against the walls that  hold me captive. 
They say that evil only comes out at night- but there is no way of telling what time the world outside lives in as I sit here in the dark. I close my eyes and try to focus, but that damned light's eerie noises  and the sound of my saliva traveling down through my body cause my body to shake. I notice a small bubble of sweat has begun to form bellow my lower lip, and begin to swipe at it furiously. Within moments that bubble spread across my whole body, making the air even thicker than before. I pull at my long, damp mess of hair and try to scream out- but nothing comes out. I scratch at my throat and try to force the words that so desperately want to meet the surface to no avail. 
Finally, I permit my body to greet the ground once more in a pile of sweaty human flesh. As I allow my cheek to rest on the cool ground, I feel a sudden clarity rush from my toes into the back of my skull. I stand up and select a single brick from the wall that locks me in and pull it towards myself. I hold it, surprised to find that it weighs less than I anticipated. I close my eyes and rub the dark stone between my fingers, until it is nothing more than a pile of dust at my feet. I select 23 more- one for every year that I've lived- tearing down the walls to my own prison, and kneel down before the tall arraignment of smut. I use my pinky finger to delicately coax the dust into an image that resemble gorgeously tall, weed-like flowers. I stretch up to the light that still swings above me, and confidently walk out of my dark prison into the happy wild that awaits me outside. I promise myself that there was no looking back now- but even I know that promises are only meant for the pure of heart.