A Price Too High

She whispered to the moon, “I’m growing old.” If she could get away with it, she would escape from this place. Only the calendar marked the number of days she had been here, and when she would be released. Instead, she spent most of the nights staring longingly at the moon, wishing to be there, until drifting off to sleep at some point in the witching hours.

Another week passed of the same dull routines designed to drive her completely mad. She ate what she was told to eat, went to the places she was told to go, and took the “medicine” she was told to take. Her distraction this week was to watch the spider spin its web in the corner. Then a fly would land in the center of the web. No matter how the fly twisted and turned and rolled, it could not escape the web or the spider waiting patiently in the corner of the web. She whispered to the captive insect, “Just like me, little one. Just like me. They weaved their web and waited for me to make a mistake. And I did. I made a mistake. And now, just like you, I can’t escape.”

Months slipped by, all the same as the one before. The calendar said her review hearing would be up in two days. Only two more days. Only 36 more hours. Only two thousand some odd minutes. There was a time when she could run the numbers without effort. It was a gift that landed her in this place. She whispered to the moon, “I should have known better. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have let the liars on the Hill keep their plunder. The price to do the right thing was too high.”



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