Posted in Young Writers in Action

Young Writers in Action: The Prisoner in the Cage

THE PRISONER IN THE CAGE
by Ever, 10, Bellevue, Washington, USA

White Pigeon in a cage. Photo by Garfield Besa on Pexels.comI gazed mournfully through the old rusty glass, scarred and dented with bruises of dirt and yellowed grass. It was snowing lightly outside, tiny specks of snowflakes, pure and clean, gently drifting down, making the journey of a snowflake’s life.

The chilly winter air was quite cold, and through the broken window, breezes sailed across the tattered room, piercing my delicate small body. I was a handsome young bird, with wings fresh and strong, and here I was, imprisoned, cut off from my world in the skies. How I wished to be free, to be soaring in the clouds with the ones of my kind.

The snowing went on for days and days, frosty winds that kept me weak whipped me, biting me with their sharp teeth and their venom of cold filled me. The wide world that I used to have with a flap of a wing now became the cage that I was set in, microscopic compared to my old world in the air, the world where I could explore every crook and nanny, that world that gave me freedom. But now here I was, powerless against the dull metal binds of the once-golden cage. The strips of my prison held me back, and each time I looked at them my heart was filled with that sense of lostness, that feeling of being forgotten and wiped from their minds.

It was a sad feeling, knowing you were known no more, knowing that you weren’t thought of anymore. I felt extinct, and the hope that was never there in my heart was blown out with the gale that came every now and then.

I was a prisoner. To think an animal that had the gift of freedom, the power of flying anywhere in the world, was trapped by thin steel cords; well, that was a thought that had never entered my mind before.

I was the lonely prisoner in the cage, in a musty and creaky room, uninhabited by anyone anymore. I succumbed to loneliness and sat down.

I waited for someone to find me, but maybe it was true that I would not be found. Maybe I would last forever in that cold, sad, room, never to be found …


This is Ever’s first story for Alphabet Soup. To send us YOUR book review, poem, story or artwork: check out our submission guidelines

Author:

This post was added by Rebecca Newman. Rebecca is a children's writer and poet, and the editor of the Australian children's literary blog, Alphabet Soup. For more about Rebecca visit: rebeccanewman.net.au.