Ashley Brinkmeyer
11-20-02
3rd period
#2
Doctor Manette
People think of death as something decomposing or organ failure. This is true to an extent, but death is not merely biology. Another definition of death is not living. The jail cell I was imprisoned in was much like a grave; dark, damp, and earthy smelling. After a long period of time being kept in one place where the only form of entertainment is counting cracks in the gray stone wall, you begin to loose feeling. You don't care about anything, or rather, you can't care about anything. You are kept away from anything worth caring for. Sure, you have hope in the begging, but after 18 years, the word 'hope' begins to loose all meaning, as if it never existed or was crushed under the darkness and gloom of the prison. You begin to feel like a corpse, which is proper, because corpses are not alive, and neither are you if you aren't out in the world living. When I was finally let out though, I felt much like what a newborn must feel like. The sun stung my virgin eyes which were not used to any light brighter than the flame of a candle for eighteen years, my muscles were weak from the inability to walk or run further than four feet in a lonely cell for so long, and my mind swirled with the colors of the world which I had once known long ago, but had forgotten and replaced with the gray which drenched the prison that I lived in for nearly half my life. It was like being born for the second time! I was finally free to do the things of a normal person! Finally free to live my life normally! Finally! I was alive again!
Doctor Manette
People think of death as something decomposing or organ failure. This is true to an extent, but death is not merely biology. Another definition of death is not living. The jail cell I was imprisoned in was much like a grave; dark, damp, and earthy smelling. After a long period of time being kept in one place where the only form of entertainment is counting cracks in the gray stone wall, you begin to loose feeling. You don't care about anything, or rather, you can't care about anything. You are kept away from anything worth caring for. Sure, you have hope in the begging, but after 18 years, the word 'hope' begins to loose all meaning, as if it never existed or was crushed under the darkness and gloom of the prison. You begin to feel like a corpse, which is proper, because corpses are not alive, and neither are you if you aren't out in the world living. When I was finally let out though, I felt much like what a newborn must feel like. The sun stung my virgin eyes which were not used to any light brighter than the flame of a candle for eighteen years, my muscles were weak from the inability to walk or run further than four feet in a lonely cell for so long, and my mind swirled with the colors of the world which I had once known long ago, but had forgotten and replaced with the gray which drenched the prison that I lived in for nearly half my life. It was like being born for the second time! I was finally free to do the things of a normal person! Finally free to live my life normally! Finally! I was alive again!
