*


  *


                    *





    *


         


          
             *












"What do you miss most?" asked the first prisoner.


"Everything worth missing," replied the second. "Friends, family, hot tea and good books."


He'd scratched poems onto the wall of their cell with a dull pencil, as they weren't allowed to have anything truly sharp.
The opposite wall was taken up by a makeshift calendar.
One door, one window, all barred.
Dark strips of shadow stretched across the moonlit floor.


"There are stars back home," the first prisoner suddenly declared. "None of this light pollution shit. I miss stars, don't you?"


"Stars, yes...I forgot about stars."