The prison was dark.
Single rays of sunlight illuminated the dust that lay heavy in the air.
It was all built for a single person.
Deep down in the dark hole that was made to capture him, sat a figure.
The prisoner.
Heavy chains stretched high up to the walls.
They did not rattle. They did not move.
The prisoner was perfectly still.
The chains were wrapped around him like thick iron serpents.
He knew that he could never exit this hole.
All hope had vanished and yet he still wished to die. Not to be trapped anymore.
Even though not a single twitch of a muscle betrayed him, anger, pure rage, resistance was burning in him, a bright flame that needed to burn bright or burn out.
Atop the wall stood a guard, a man that didn't know much. But he knew that watching this man was worth his time. Someone needed to watch him so they could afford trapping him in here until his meaningless life would end.
Was there any other option really?
The only other option would be for the prisoner to die. No one wants to die, he knew that. This was the only option.
For the daily inspection of the security measures, the guard descended the flights of stairs into the pit.
A heavy metal door slid to the side. He stepped into the dim light falling from the windows, far above anything that he could reach.
Carefully, he moved towards the prisoner, one step after another. The prisoner didn't move.
The guard slowly circled the coat of chains holding him in place.
As the guard completed his round, the man slowly raised his head.
For just a second, the guard locked eyes with the imprisoned. There was so much in his eyes. There was anger, rage even. There was pain, despair and fear. And yet, there was also hope.
Hope for what? To be free again? The man could never be free again, both of them knew that. So what was he hoping for?
And as he say his fear, the man saw himself.
He was somewhere else he had never been.
But he wasn't a guard. He wasn't a prisoner.
He was going to die.
Above his neck, a cold and uncaring blade was ready to end his life.
He wasn't ready to die.
Why would they do this? Why wouldn't they imprison him?
To his left and right and everywhere he could look, more steel was ready to punish, blades ready to kill, made from metal that could have made chains.
Right before him stood the man that was not chained anymore. He looked into his eyes, but there was no pity. There was not even understanding.
The man couldn't understand his pleas.
Noone wanted to live like a trapped animal.
His death would be the only possible mercy.
Freedom was not an option anymore, they both knew that, and yet he wished for something.
In the face of death, all he should have felt was fear. But by seeing what he feared most, he suddenly understood the hope, the fear, the anger.
The prisoner, kneeling before him in chains, didn't wish to be free, he only wished to not be trapped anymore.
He could never feel the wish to die, and yet, he could feel the prisoners wish to die.
A hand was stretched out from among the chains.
The guard laid his dagger into the palm of the prisoner. Not out of malice, not out of hatred, but out of mercy and understanding.
He knew that he didn't have to wish for death to let this man die.
And the guard turned around and left.
He knew the blade would never fall into his neck to end his life, because his own mercy would be understood.