From earliest memory, my small world was a prison. The first seven years of my life, I awoke to the sight of metal bars across my bedroom window. They weren’t there to hold me captive; they were there to prevent me from falling from the eighth floor of our apartment building in London. But I found them confining nonetheless.
Freedom came, in part, when my family moved to a four-bedroom house in the suburbs with a sizable garden backing onto a beautiful tree-lined park. My large bedroom window treated me to miles of rolling emerald-green hills, beckoning me to come out and play.
But because of my poor grades in essay writing, every weekend my father assigned me a writing project. Sometimes this took a few hours and other times it took the entire weekend. Once again my bedroom was my prison. The freedom I yearned for was put on hold until the assignment was deemed satisfactory.
Although my imprisonment was distressing, at least it was temporary. Damon, on the other hand, has been behind bars for 20 years, incarcerated for gun and drug possession. With his release date ten years away, his freedom is very much on hold.
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