Part One

The view from my tower is pretty enough, but it never pleases me anymore. I stopped enjoying it about ten years ago. Still, it’s a welcome break from the stone prison I’m trapped in. If it weren’t for this old tower, I would have been out of here years ago. Or I could have been, if things happened like they were supposed to. But my prince never came.

I now get fed up with seeing the outside world. The tantalizing idea of what you can never have. If my jailers were merciful, they would never have put a window there. You would think it gave me hope. Yeah, right. Is there really such a thing? I used to believe. I used to think that one day, I would escape, with the aid of a dashing prince, of course. I was young then. But now, after thirty years of being imprisoned, I’ve learned to set my expectations low. That way, you won’t get hurt when you don’t get what you thought you would. I never get hurt anymore. Hope is a curse.

I take a step away from the window, wishing I could tune out the cheerful noise of the chirping of birds. You wouldn’t be so happy if you were stuck up here, I think.

To ward off the boredom, I begin my favorite activity, next to staring out the window. I fantasize about escape. I know that climbing out the window isn’t an option. They built my room too far from the ground for that. Plus, I don’t have silky blonde way-too-long hair like one princess. I hate that story. Rapunzel this, Rapunzel that, the girl with beautiful glowing magical hair. I doubt she’s even real. Thinking about her makes me sad. At least she had someone to help her run away, even if he was a thief.

I return to making escape plans. I don’t think any of the guards would set me free. Plus, they only guard the tower’s one entrance/ exit, so even if I could convince them, how would I get out of my room?

Thinking about how to escape makes me upset, because why imagine the impossible? I would rather imagine what life would be like outside of my prison. I wonder what grass feels like. What other people are like. How I would live. That’s the thing. When I imagine myself, not here, but out in the real world, it’s like trying to put a puzzle together, but it just doesn’t fit. I don’t know enough about life out there to know where I could possibly fit in. All I’ve heard about the outside world is that everyone has a place. People work together, and they care about each other. I wonder what it would be like to have someone care about me, or to care about someone. What a strange feeling. Real people are odd. But still. I would prefer living with wolves to living here. Any place is better than here.

Part two

That night, as I lay in bed, I’m still thinking about the life people have outside stone walls. It’s not fair. All because my prince didn’t arrive, I can’t have a real life, meet real people. And it’s not even my fault. I don’t know why I was imprisoned. I don’t know why Prince Charmjng never showed. I don’t know… anything. The unfairness of it all hits me, and I slam my fist against the wall in anger.

“Ow,” I mutter. Another dumb mistake. I peer at my hand, and instead of seeing a bruise, I see a cut. Don’t you have to hit something sharp to get cut? I sit up out of bed, and that’s when I see it. A piece of stone from the wall is broken. How long has it been broken, I don’t know. I do know that I didn’t break it, though. This stone is ages old, but it’s still as strong as the day it was crafted. I stare at the brick, and I realize that this might just be my way out.

I maneuver my hand around the sharp part of the brick, and I pull as hard as I can. The brick comes loose with a scraaaaaaape. My hand is bleeding badly now, but I don’t care. I bring my hands up behind the bottom brick and it comes out easily. Then I realize that this doesn’t lead to the outside, but something concealed within the building’s walls but not accessible through the inside, either. An escape route, if you can call it that. There is a ladder leading down. It’s my way out of here.

I keep removing bricks from the wall, each one painfully loud, until there’s a gap large enough for me to fit through.

“What’s that noise?”

I freeze. It hadn’t occurred to me that the guards could hear the noise from all the way down there tower at their post. I hear conversation, then footsteps echo up the stairs leading to my chamber. I climb into the hole in the wall and grab the ladder.

I pause at the top of the ladder. Do I really want to do this? Leave the only home, if I can even call it that, that I’ve ever known? The answer is, yes. But I pause, thinking, why is this ladder here? Is it a trap? Probably not. My captors wouldn’t allow even the slightest chance of escape, even if it was a trap.

So why is there a functional escape route? Suddenly, I remember that, years before I was born, this didn’t used to be a prison. It was a home. When my captors rebuilt it into a prison, they got rid of all the possible means of escape. I guess there was a ladder here before they built over it with stone walls. They didn’t think I’d be able to find it and escape. But I did. I feel a brief flash of satisfaction before I hear voices coming up the steps. That propels me into action.

I hurry down the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time. It’s dark and damp inside of the walls. The wood is wet, and what I assume is halfway down, my feet slip while I’m changing rungs, so I’m left dangling from one hand over a long drop. I manage to hoist myself back onto the ladder. I slow down a bit after that incident. When I finally reach the bottom, it doesn’t feel real.

Finding an opening in the stone at the bottom, I feel elated. But I remind myself, I can stop to marvel at the real world later. Now, I will escape. I plan to displace the bricks to create a gap the same way I had earlier.

Within a minute of this, I hear noises echoing down into the hidden space I am in. I strain to hear what I realize are voices, sounding distorted from that high up.

“Jonathan! Look! I found something.”

I heard heavy footsteps thud on the floor above.

“A hole in the wall! Where does it go?”

“I’ll take a look.”

I imagine one of the guards poking his head into the gap in the wall. I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound. With my hand on one of the bricks near the opening, I fight my urge to push it out. I can’t afford having them hear me. After what feels like an eternity, one of the guards speaks.

“I’m going down there.”

Without waiting to see what happens next, I push on all the bricks with all my strength, abandoning my previous plan and going all out. It doesn’t matter how much noise I make. They’re already after me.

I fall through the wall, along with some bricks. One hits me in the arm. Hard. The pain is blinding. Instantly, I know it’s broken in more than one place. I lie there, unable to move, until I hear a thud, which has to be the guard. He finally caught up to me.

The thought of capture sets me into motion. If I had my chance to escape once, for the first time in my 30 years of life, I doubt I will have it again. I struggle to my feet, clutching my injured arm. I bite back a screech of pain as I start running.

“You, get back here!”

I run faster. After a few seconds, I risk a look back at the guard. He is mere feet away. Soon after, I glance back over my shoulder again. He is gaining on me. I won’t be able to make it. A few seconds later, he grabs my arm. He doesn’t pull me back towards the tower, though. Instead, he looks around him, as if checking to see if anyone is watching. Despite my fear, I am suddenly interested. What is he going to do?

It feels like ages before he speaks. “Run, and don’t come back. If anyone asks, nobody helped you escape. You just evaded the guards yourself. Got it?”

I nod.

“Go,” he says, looking conflicted.

I want to thank him, but I have no idea how. Words aren’t enough to express my gratitude. He has set me free from my prison.

“Run!” he shouts.

I do as he tells me to.

I run until I am so exhausted I fall over. Panting hard, I drag myself into the cover of the bushes. Despite being outside in the wilderness, I sleep better than I have in a long time. I feel safe. I am finally free.