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The Dungeon



There was once a man imprisoned in a dark and depressing dungeon. It was filthy, oppressive and devoid of hope. The screams of other prisoners and appalling odors constantly buffeted his senses – the sounds and smells of despair. The man had fellow prisoners on either side of his cell, but they rarely spoke. He was alone and dejected. His spirit died a little bit with each passing day, each one as empty and cruel as the day before.

But this morning was different. The guards, after bringing in just enough nearly-inedible swill to keep the prisoners from starving, neglected to properly lock a few of the cell doors. Our prisoner didn’t notice it at first, but soon watched as the young prisoner in the cell to his left started to play with the lock and slowly jimmied it open. With cautious, even anxious, anticipation, the young man slowly pushed opened the cell door. His eyes started to dance as he tentatively stepped out of the cell for the first time in years. As he passed our prisoner’s cell, the young man began to work open that lock as well, leaving our prisoner’s door ajar.

Our prisoner slowly stood up on weakened legs and made his way towards the door. The young man beckoned him out from the cell and towards the gate at the other end of the dungeon. The guards had carelessly left the keys to the gate hanging beside it, never expecting the captives to make it out of their cells. Our prisoner gradually leaned out of the cell, peering down the nearly pitch-black corridor. The only light came from cracks in the gate. He could barely remember the dingy hall he had been taken down so many years before when he was first imprisoned.

“Come on, we have to hurry!” the young man insisted through hushed but emphatic tones. “The guards will come back soon. This is our chance to escape.” He pointed to the gate leading outside the dungeon. “We just have to get through that door, let’s go!”

“What is on the other side of that door?” our prisoner asked. The young man paused and looked away, but then his eyes met those of our prisoner again as he whispered, “I don’t know. I have heard there are countless, unknowable horrors: Pain and frustration. Famine and heartache. Defeat and fear. Tragedy and adversity. Disappointment. Obstacles you could never imagine …” The young man’s voice trailed off as he looked away once more. Then, with a fire in his eyes, the young man looked back at our prisoner and proclaimed, “But I am going anyway. Whatever it is on the other side of that door, I would rather face it than rot in here.”

Our prisoner felt terror grip his soul as the young man turned to march towards the gate. Almost without being conscious of it, our prisoner’s weak and feeble hands gently grasped the iron bars on the door to his cell. He held it there for a moment that seemed like eternity. The young prisoner, now halfway to the gate, stopped and turned back. Their gaze met once last time as our prisoner gradually pulled back on the bars, shutting himself back in the cell. A small beam of light reflected off a tear forming in the young man’s eye. It flickered briefly as he turned back down the corridor. And then he was gone.

As the door locked back in place, it made what seemed like a thunderous sound. Our prisoner’s heart began to ache immediately. When he turned to shuffle back to the rear of his cell, he noticed the old man in the cell to his right. The old man’s eyes displayed the agony our prisoner felt in his soul. Several moments passed by as they stared in silence. Our prisoner quietly asked, “Do you know what lies beyond that gate?” Sheepishly, the old man bowed his head and stared at the muck and grime that made the dungeon floor. “Yes,” he muttered hesitantly.

“What?” demanded our prisoner. “You know?” he asked, almost angrily as if it was more of an accusation than a question. “What is on the other side of that door that would entice some fool to face that kind of suffering and terrifying uncertainty?”

The old man said nothing. He continued to look down at the ground. Then, as if with great strain, he slowly lifted up his head. With regret in his eyes and pain in his voice he uttered a single word: “Freedom.”

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