The Third Place

Essay by LepoHigh School, 11th gradeA, November 2006

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A windy night, the omniscient sky hectically assigned his children to their positions as the jailer pushed me towards the cell house. Before I set my foot onto the stairs leading up to the entrance, I paused for a moment to take one last forlorn look at the merciless sky. I saw them kneeling down dropping their lugubrious, desperate tears down on me as if they wanted to make me feel there was nothing out here worth running for. Covered with a coat of blue, still staring into the sky I suddenly felt a foreign body drilling callously into my back. The thrust was meant to tell me to move on, but how could I, I was lost already. My wet overall, the chains between my feet and the stairs which were about to magnify the space between freedom and isolation absorbed my last will to resist. The sea trying to reach for me and the other prisoners continually sent out more powerful waves against the cliffside of the island.

Next to the stairs was a red bicycle. The image burned into my mind, fighting against the majority of livid impressions I had of the island. From now on there would be only monastic, melancholic daily routine and loneliness. The heavy rain forced me to climb upstairs with narrowed eyes. Every time the wind seized me, I was threatened to fall erratically over the handrail, but the Jailer held tight on me he could not dare me having a premature termination of life. The stairs went in circles. I had the feeling the torture was never going to end. The more circles I made, the more I asked myself how the stairs were supposed to hold me for much longer. As I reached the end of the stairs I...