Please Be Free

He lent over the paper, digging the pen deeper and deeper into its surface, scratching out his messages and pleas for help. Someone had to hear him, even if it was himself. He was so absorbed into his doing he didn't see the shadow creep over his shoulder, nor hear the breathing of someone standing behind him. His hand shivered as he wrote out another letter, and another. The pen was snatched from his hand. He ignored it, instead shredding the paper and leaping from his seat, anger, frustration and confused thoughts filling up inside him. He wanted to relax, he wanted to be free. When would that be granted?

[110 words]