The Legend, or, Prisoners

A Story by Sam

The lamentations of a prisoner.

“O to taste freedom. To be rid of our oppressors, and of these transparent walls. However impossible or rarefied, I shall have liberty,” lamented Leonidas.

Hector groaned, “Not this again, Leonidas. Just accept it. You will never escape.”

“You mock and you jest, Hector, but you do not know, you do not understand. You were born in this prison. You have never seen the sun or earth--”

“That’s not true, Leonidas. I see the sun, and dirt every day. I’ve even seen--”

“No! Is your mind so limited? I mean to feel the sod and the grass beneath my paws, to once again feel the sun beaming upon my coat of fur… and I mean to do so soon,” said Leonidas, imagining his dream.

“Well you’ll never get past Kommandant Wildau. She’s much smarter than you.”

“Speak not of the Kommandant to me! What does she know? Her responsibility is to monitor the dwarf humans.”

“Yes, and yet she has foiled every one of your escape plans.”

“I know. Please don’t remind me, Hector, of my failures.”

“She even takes care of us. The food and shelter, see?”

“To what are you referring? The cage? Oh how charming and quaint it is,” said Leonidas sarcastically, “And the provisions? Merely sedatives. They are but poison, my fickle friend. Though I wish the Kommandant would coddle the bantam beasts as liberally with barbiturates.”

“I happen to like the dwarf humans though. So loud, so messy, so energetic and full of life. They’re always screaming and playing games, and running about. (Except that brief period where they lie down and don’t move. I’m not sure what purpose it serves.) I think they’re adorable.”

“Adorable? Did you not just hear me bemoan the pygmy race? They are nothing more than a vicious, lecherous, and stunted breed. Don’t you see how they drain the energies of the Kommandant? If we were ever put in the wrong set of filthy midget claws, they could crush us without fail or prayer.”

“You judge them too harshly, Leonidas.”

“I judge? Me? They are the ones who have wrongly imprisoned me. They are the ones who persecute me simply because I am rodent. Do not lecture me on judgement, lest ye wish to face my wrath,” Leonidas sternly replied.

There was a long pause, and then Leonidas sighed, before he climbed into the running wheel, “Eventually my break from this dungeon will become myth, and I legend, and it shall be recounted in song, perhaps even by you if you live past five. Mark thine words, Hector. Prithee, give silence, for I need to train.”