The Impulse

   Darkness. Emptiness. Chains.

They held him. He gritted his teeth. He pulled. He exerted extreme force. He forced the chains. Their movement was already something. It made him feel alive, to see something could move. This abyss was not the deepest death, something could move. Something enough for hope. He forced more. Pain in his wrists. He couldn’t stop. It was not a matter of desire anymore. Of will. He had changed himself in these years of chained imprisonment. He had altered his self. His soul and his mind. To stop the struggle of freedom? Impossible now. It was now part of his being. In his eternity of the circumstance, his choice now defined the circumstance. To keep forcing the chains. To be free was now meaningless. In his impulse to give himself life…

the impulse became life itself.