This cell, the place he had called home for the past thirteen months, was dark and dirty as always when he awoke. Zinzie lifted his head to see that, unfortunately, it was still not just a very bad dream. The floor of the cell was nothing more than a pit of mud, not even fit for pigs to wallow. The cold water that was dumped on him about once a week as his 'bath' had mixed with the dirt floor to create an unholy concoction of wet earth. In the darkness, it never dried. Zinzie usually found himself covered in it. After finding the strength to pull himself up off the squishy ground, he staggered over to the one place that kept him sane. On the outside wall of his cell, there was a small, barred window. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could see out into the forest that surrounded his isolated prison. The window was about ground level, allowing him to, if he became desperate enough, snatch up insects that wandered too close to eat. There was a juicy, plump cricket sitting just outside of his reach. Zinzie watched it as it crawled away, back into the forest. The sunshine looked beautiful this morning. The birds could be heard singing. He wished more than anything to be enjoying this morning with his family; he friends. He let out a soft sigh and began to sing again. Singing always seemed to help. [i]"I'm so far from where I'm from I don't know where I've gone Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home Away from home, away from home Away from home, away from home Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home Not a shirt on my back Not a penny to my name Lord I can't go back home this a-way This a-way, this a-way This a-way, this a-way Lord I can't go back home this a-way Lord I'm one, lord I'm two Lord I'm three, lord I'm four Lord I'm five hundred mile away from home Away from home, away from home Away from home, away from home Lord I'm five hundred mile away from home Don't have much longer left Even if I go in death Lord, I'm a-going home, someday. Someday, someday Someday, someday Lord, I'm a-going home, someday..."[/i] He grasped the bars of the window and used them to hold himself up. Zinzie believed he had counted two days since the guards last gave him food. His legs were beginning to shake underneath him, but he didn't want to sit back down in the mud. He rested his chin on the edge of the window and looked out. Suddenly, a bird landed just a foot away. Zinzie jumped, but managed to hold in his yelp. The bird had a nut in it's beak, which it began to repeatedly strike against a rock in the dirt. Zinzie watched with fascination, until his more primitive side took over. He let out a shout, scaring away the bird, and snatched up the little acorn. The shell was already half busted, letting him open up the rest and devour the nut inside. It wasn't much, but it might keep him alive. He then leaned his back against the wall and looked down at the broken pieces of shell. What now? He was still hungry. Perhaps he should have grabbed the bird instead...Then an idea struck. Zinzie made his wobbly way over to the barred door of his cell and stuffed the nut shell into the latch. He hoped that, if and when they ever opened the door to give him food, the door wouldn't catch the lock. It would be a while before he could test his wackjob theory, however. Hours went by with not so much as a peep out of thieves that lived in the base. Then, finally, the door at the top of the dungeon stairs opened. Zinzie, out of habit, pressed against the back wall. It could be a guard with food, or it could be a guard who's had a bad day and was wishing to take it out on him. However, the form of one of the smaller men appeared, a piece of moldy bread in his hands. He muttered something under his breath as he opened the door and tossed the bread inside. It landed in the mud with a wet 'plop', and then the door was closed behind him as the guard went back up the stairs. He didn't even bother to check if it had caught. Zinzie made a dive for the bread and ate it down in seconds. There had been a time when he turned his nose up at the rotten food they gave him, but now he'd eat just about anything. When he was done, he looked up at the door with wide eyes. Could it be? He was almost scared to look. Slowly, he got up and crept towards the cell door, then gave it a light push. It didn't budge. He scowled and shoved it. The door creaked open, making Zinzie jump back. What if they heard it? The possibility was ridiculous at best, but to a man who spent the last year in a dark, muddy hole, it was terrifying. Slowly, he crept out. As he left the cell, his bare feet touched solid ground for the first time in a long time. He didn't see any other way out of the dungeon than the one offered: the door. He barely had the strength to fight his way out if needed; hell, he barely had the strength to waltz out without a hitch. Zinzie slunk to the top of the stairs and took the door handle. He paused, gave a short prayer to whatever god was watching, and pushed the door open just a crack. He didn't hear any voices. Perhaps they had all gone to rob. He pushed the door a little more and poked his head out. By some miracle, the coast was clear. The base wasn't large. It was mostly three rooms, and the one before him was empty. Zinzie wasted no time as he snuck out and slithered towards the door. He couldn't believe it; all that time and escape was so easy. It seemed that he had tried anything and everything. Everything but placing a nutshell in the latch. As the front door creaked open, Zinzie somehow found the strength inside of him to run. He ran even though his entire body hurt. He ran with the fear of being caught and locked up again. He gritted his teeth and kept up his pace even as his lungs caught on fire. The forest underbrush tore and cut at his body, but after what he'd been through, it was mere child's play. The only clothes he wore, his tattered pants, were already torn halfway to pieces. His skin, which clung tightly to his bones, was just as tattered. His body was covered in a rainbow of bruises. Large cuts and open wounds were an angry red with infection. His back bore scars that only a cruel whip could leave behind. With one black eye and a swollen lip, he looked like hell itself. His hair was long, the lively curls all but flat. Mud caked itself in it, as it did everywhere on his body. By the time he reached civilization, Zinzie couldn't run any further. As he slowed, he found himself dizzy and exhausted. He staggered out of the woods and onto the cobblestone street. There were people. Real, live, actual, non-threatening people! Zinzie called out to them for help, but most gave him one look and hurried off. None of them wanted to be bothered by a half naked man covered in mud. "Please help me," Zinzie cried. "Somebody, please." His legs gave out on him, bringing him to his knees. He felt utter distraught. He made it so far, only for the cruel social status that was 'look out for number one' to doom him. He crumbled on the street, no more strength and out of hope. People on their way to run errands just walked around him, looking down at him as if he were a rat that had crawled from the sewer. (The tune of Zinzie's song is Five Hundred Miles. You can look it up if you're curious enough :p )