Dia de Trabajo

Moments pass as I look beyond the window, their window, before my thoughts become obsessed with running away. What kind of life is fulfilled while bound by confinement? What type of creature is satisfied with isolation? What would I be if I complied?

My hand begins to shake as I wipe frustration from my lips. I have said too much. At least no one is listening. My banging against the window, their window, disturbs no soul. At last, there is no one listening. No one hears a sound. No one sees me run. No one should be so privileged.