Caged Bird, Shackled Slave

I ran until I was out of the palace, barely seeing the people around me--servants, slaves, guards, soldiers--as I sped past them. I ran after I was out of the palace, and continued until my legs burned and gave out. I tripped and fell forward, my face hitting hard sand. I laid there and cried, my eyes stinging from what I told myself was the dust in the sand. I hiccuped and coughed, watching the wet spot in the sand grow and shrink in the heat of the desert, the parched, cracked ground drinking up my tears. Sitting underneath the shade of a nearby Sycamore tree, I began to think of my life. I knew I would die here.

I was born into slavery. My mother gave birth to me in her cell. I was born onto the cold floor of a dirty cell in lower Egypt. My mother became sick previous to birthing me, which caused complications during my birth. She gave birth to me, and cut the umbilical cord with her teeth. She wrapped me up in her minimal amount of clothing, sacrificing her warmth for mine. She slept with me cradled to her that night. The night she left this world. Now I would join her.

I was found the next morning when a soldier reported the sound of a baby crying. They opened the door to find a naked slave's corpse at their feet, a newborn wrapped in a bundle of cloth next to her.

I was fed the milk of camels by a servant once each day. I grew up in the cell I was born in. The inside of the cage was all I've ever known. I dug my nails into the walls of the cell, carving symbols I'd created to make letters. They were natural symbols, eagles, serpents. Inside the dark cell walls reads a message. "My name is Zahra."

Thinking about my life for so long was making me thirst for water. My throat burned, searing with the need. I needed to get out of here, find a safe place. I couldn't go back to the palace; I can't face him. Ever Again.

Getting up from my seat on the ground, I covered my eyes as I looked up to the setting sun. In the distance, I saw the palace, bathed in the slowly-fading light. This was the last time I would ever see it. I turned my attention away from the palace, guiding my eyes in the other direction.

In the distance, I saw a small village. I could see the waves on the horizon, the heat confusing my eyes. I wasn't sure if I could trust my sight. I'd heard of mirages through the walls in the prison, the slaves speaking about what lay outside the dim, dirt-floored cells.

Standing, I looked up. The sun was ending its life in the sky. I felt the air cool in seconds as the sun died. I started walking towards the village.