Marked

Marked

Ron Koppelberger

The governess gave the key to the warden and the cask shimmered in the distant kitchen, cool inviting and calling the marked, marked by terror, marked by the will to continue on and fight the stain of adversity. Greedy doubts filled his mind for an instant and he whispered, “Let me be free, let me be free!”. The steal bars were a constant reminder of the stain the indelible mark on his body, the profusion of lines radiating from the center of his brow.
He was in wonting passion, the cask of wine in the kitchen was calling out to him, “come drink me in the hour of your need!” It called and the lines that formed the mark turned fiery red with blood. The prison bars opened and the wine was at hand. He slipped into the kitchen as the warden slept and the governess attended the others.
The wine was good and for a moment he forgot the stain. The night wore on and the intoxicating secret revealed itself to the prisoner. He lay drunk on the tiled white floor of the kitchen his stain forgotten and the freedom of sated excess churning quietly in his stomach. The governess returned and discovered the sleeping prisoner. With rough hewn hands she hoisted the prisoner over her shoulder, for she was extremely strong, and returned him to his cell.
The next morning the warden came to the prisoner’s cell and exclaimed, “You are the picture of irrational sense for if you were truly a prisoner here you would have made your escape.” after saying this he unlocked the prisoners cell and said, “We are all bred the same, stained and marked as yourself.” he rolled up his shirt sleeve and showed the newly freed man the profusion of lines on his forearm. “You see?” The man smiled and went to the kitchen again this time for a bite to eat. He would be free from that moment forward even though he never left the estate and the guardianship of the caste again.