The Insurrectionist
In the short time Marsha knew Deni. She realized he was saying a lot more than his words indicated. The trick was finding the key that would unlock the puzzle to his mind. She did however have an idea that might give her some insight.
Marsha handed him a composition notebook. “As a journalism major, you should know the pen was always thought to be mightier than the sword.”
Deni handled the cheap composition notebook in his hands and then flipped through the blank pages. “Is it, or does the pen simply inspire the sword?”
“Writing is liberating. You can be anywhere and anything you want inside this book. Let it go,” she said.
Deni did feel a sense of liberation despite his imprisonment. Even though his body was in captivity, his mind was free to wonder. As Marsha and Viktor were getting ready to leave, Marsha had a prison guard release Deni’s right hand from restraints so he could write. Once again alone, Deni stared at the composition book and wondered where to begin. The first word he wrote on the first page of the book was freedom:
Freedom: My father always said freedom was for fools who didn’t know what to do with it, yet for ages so many people fought and died for freedom. Slaves were locked in cages and shackles--their physical presence a threat to their masters. Artists, writers and poets were ousted from society--their visions, thoughts and musings a threat to kings and leaders.
Deni paused for a moment, staring at the page and then wrote:
Lovers kept apart--their hearts a threat to families and society. If freedom is such a great thing, why are so many people afraid of it, afraid to give it, afraid to fight for it and truly afraid to believe in it? If there was true freedom in the world, we would all be without shackles.
He closed his composition book and rested his head on the pillow. We are all slaves of some kind, to our families, to our country, to our masters and mostly to our minds.
Marsha handed him a composition notebook. “As a journalism major, you should know the pen was always thought to be mightier than the sword.”
Deni handled the cheap composition notebook in his hands and then flipped through the blank pages. “Is it, or does the pen simply inspire the sword?”
“Writing is liberating. You can be anywhere and anything you want inside this book. Let it go,” she said.
Deni did feel a sense of liberation despite his imprisonment. Even though his body was in captivity, his mind was free to wonder. As Marsha and Viktor were getting ready to leave, Marsha had a prison guard release Deni’s right hand from restraints so he could write. Once again alone, Deni stared at the composition book and wondered where to begin. The first word he wrote on the first page of the book was freedom:
Freedom: My father always said freedom was for fools who didn’t know what to do with it, yet for ages so many people fought and died for freedom. Slaves were locked in cages and shackles--their physical presence a threat to their masters. Artists, writers and poets were ousted from society--their visions, thoughts and musings a threat to kings and leaders.
Deni paused for a moment, staring at the page and then wrote:
Lovers kept apart--their hearts a threat to families and society. If freedom is such a great thing, why are so many people afraid of it, afraid to give it, afraid to fight for it and truly afraid to believe in it? If there was true freedom in the world, we would all be without shackles.
He closed his composition book and rested his head on the pillow. We are all slaves of some kind, to our families, to our country, to our masters and mostly to our minds.
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