(Scratch, scratch, scratch...) ...where should I begin?
The princesses? The deception? The arrest?
Let's start with how long it's going to take me to get home; about two weeks given the amount of stops the captain (no longer under my authority) has decided to make.
How long will it take after that to actually send me to prison? Maybe sixteen minutes, ten if my mother decides to skip the 'if only you loved others' speech. Twenty if dad decides to give his speech on courage in the face of adversity.
So, really, my life is just going to boil down to different periods of time I really don't want to deal with, but have to. The growing fear, frustration, and, yes, guilt grew and grew and grew and grew.
scratch, scratch, scratch...
It was only a matter of time until I had to deal with everything they were going to put me through. Banishment, humiliation, disownment. I could only imagine all the horrors they had prepared for me. There was the chance they would even kill me.
The worst part was the fact that I'd failed. I had come so SO close to the kingdom, yet fell short.
Some part of me hates the royalty of Arendelle. I loathe them. I have a pit in my stomach akin to a raging volcano. I want to burn her, I want to strap Her Highness Elsa Queen of the People and use a torch to defrost her. I'd use my sword on Anna. What? I'm not a man of imagination, okay?
scratch, scratch, scratch...
I waited to calm down. It took a long, long time. Eventually I managed to get myself away from the violent torture sessions in my head. It helped that I could focus myself on the task on hand; escaping.
Oh yes, there is an escape plan. It will take time, but really, what else have I got to lose? Besides my life, of course.
Once the rage towards the girls had subsided, my mind refocused on what was necessary for me to do.
I focused the rage at them into the single desire to be free. I would break out, and do serious vengeance upon them.
But first, I had to finish digging the nail out of the wood. I had scratched so much, my glove had worn through, and my finger was damaged. The white of my glove was undoubtedly stained dark red by now. But it would be worth it. No matter how much time, months, years... perhaps even a decade... but I would be free.
It was simply a matter of wearing down that nail into a lock-pick, then taking that lock-pick and freeing myself from my chains. Then I would whittle my way through the wood keeping the bars to my cell in place, and before too long, fashion that nail into a weapon.
And then... then my story would finally end. One way or another. Not to get too philosophical, but a single man with determination and anger can do more damage than an entire army. I'll be free, or I'll die.
Either way...
It's only a matter of time.
