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Emotion ' Sitting on my cold, clinical bed; I stare out in to the empty space labelled my room. How could something that had once left me entertained for hours, as a child 'trapped, almost, in my own rose-tinted, magical surroundings; too terrified to face up to the cold cutting face of reality ' leave a hollow space inside my empty soul? As I turn slowly, my bed creaks. The Guard's body bolts up, and a split second of connection leaves me staring at, almost through his tired blue eyes. They lay there blank, his gaze fixed on mine as though never seen, nor shed emotion. I peer into his eaten soul. Nothing. He looks away. I glance - for what seems like the thousandth time today- around my plain, simple room. In my mind, I slowly try to picture the lives and characters of the prisoners who came before me, how they had found their accused beings here, once in the same position as my self and how they must of felt. I slowly smile as I gently seep through each individual, taking on their traits, their strengths, their weights, their freedom, their beliefs, their character, their persona, their life. Something strange overtakes me as I realize how different each of them were, and that reminds me of how different we 'the people, still left in this sinful world ' all are. I realize now that difference is to be valued, and its being different that make us who we are. I can't believe it's come to this, is what I'm sure I, myself, ought to be saying. Though strangely, I'm not. Instead I think of how ' even though on this earth it's nearly over ' my life is really just about to begin. I collapse in a wave of emotion ' truth, Joyfulness, relief perhaps? ' as I think of how God's changed me; what he's done and how he loves me. I feel no anger.

Describe ' As I sit here in this cold dark room, frustration shoots through my dark blue veins. I cannot think. I look around angrily as I stare hard at a pathetic piece of broken wood, my desk; lying still before me. The root of my annoyance lies with how wrong they are. I am innocent, yet I am being treated like an unworthy animal. Restrained from freedom, here I stand being wrongly judged. Again. My body tenses, and I start to feel it. The feeling I know all to well. The shake in the pit of my stomach, that feeling, like an earthquake under the planets crust, getting ready to spew blazing hot, molten rock right up and out into space. I tilt slightly, one of the guard's guffaws. My head snaps forward, they both adjust themselves to shoot me a piercing stare; their eyes dancing with pure delight. But this is not the first, its just one; one of thousands, there has been many before this, and I'm sure there will be many after. But over the years I've learnt a trick. I start to push down hard with my mind. I push harder and harder, deeper and deeper, with an imaginary thick metal bin-lid until I've squashed the angry lava back down to my core. In my head I see my lava cooling down, turning dull red, and then going grey. I make it go solid and cold. It's all ok. Only, the one problem I've had and still have with this particular method is that, at least several volcanoes' worth of hard cold anger lay knocking around deep inside of me. I used to live with an almost permanent stomach ache, only ever on occasion now do I fall back into my old, self-destructive escape route. I feel it today. I never realized, until the day I met him, just how heavy it made me. His voice seems just a whisper now; drowned out again by this storm I'm in. But if not even I, take the time to stop and realize the effect this weight leaves on my worn-out soul then how could I ever expect anyone else to. Though in other ways I know I do. I feel like crying, but I know me, I wont, not here. ' Not were their smugly sat, watching me; their eyes provoke me with every evil glance. ' Not ever. I sit up straight and lift my heavy head against the cold hard back of my dusty, moth-eaten chair. The tatty corners of my crisp, dirty sheets shoot icily up into the cold evening air. I stare vigorously towards the ancient blackened window, the source of the disruption. I carefully study the room once more; squinting in the darkness as I glance sideways to the left of my hard, cardboard bed. Across from it were the carefully structured alignments of what is left of a clean, but dented, white sink. I arise slowly, picking up speed as I grope onto what feels like my large flaking railing; it's completely black now. Only because the guards have decided to switch off my small and dull lighted pale lamp ' that's now spinning madly from the gentle tap I've just got up to give it ' the reason being plainly because I didn't respond at all, let alone in a fearful manner when they got up to leave. They'd kicked my bed stand over as they went; and all my books went spilling madly onto the stone cold floor, they were hoping for reaction. None. Not even a grimace. I'd waited until I heard the sharp clank of the giant, iron door slam close. Then I saw myself, in what was left of a small shattered mirror injected into a broken wall opposite by bed, break out into a massive grin, amused at their shown annoyance from their unfortunate defeat, purely aimed to cure me of my boldness and lack of fear for their small amount of authority. They have no real power over me and they know I know that. The switch is outside my cell, I don't mind though. I'm strangely happier in the darkness, and am enjoying the gentle beam of natural moon light that comes streaming through the still ancient, blackened window. It hangs awkwardly out of the flaking, damp wall, but lets in the pale, hypnotising light at just the right brightness. I breathe in deeply, I'm calm again. This time I lean heavily on the back of the dirty chair, slightly surprised by its chilling coolness; as I once more reach up to tap the tiny lamp. The bulb again, shakes madly and round it whirls as I watch steadily under it, I suddenly guffaw as I realize what I'm being entertained by. Quite foolishly, I gather myself, continuing my quest across my microscopically, tiny room, stopping by where I know stands the deformed, ancient sink. Looking down, I slowly slide my finger along what would have once been magnificently newly furnished clean china, and this time I do find myself grimacing as I look at what is now just broken glass and Rubble slumped together in what looks like an almost recycled, heap. I study silently what is left of the broken designs in fine detail. Smiling as I think of Dad and how he'd able he'd be to fix this unsanitary poor excuse for a living condition up. I imagine him here with me now, talking to me about his plans for this place. My Dad, A self published builder, in charge of everything. God only knows how proud I am of him. My smile quickly fades as a dreaded uninvited thought carefully creeps in to my mind, seeping through every pore of my now under challenged brain. I suddenly wonder what infectious, revolting diseases lay lurking in this unsanitary, evil, cramped, dark, doom of a pit. What ever it is that grows beneath the cold hard ground and the damp flaking walls down here had more than probably already latched onto my sickly weak immune system, swarming inside my stomach and infesting me with its deadly bacteria. Then it hits me ' I stumble back, bewildered at such a thought ' like a giant mass of thick red bricks, hurtling vigorously down from the black night sky to its final destination, Me. Startled, I suddenly realize. I may never see my family again.