The doors to my cell closed with finality: I didn't have to check to know I wasn't getting out of here any time soon. At least they let me keep my smokes, I thought to myself. Slumping down against the stone and cement, I pulled one out and lit up, inhaling deeply and blowing a jet of grey towards the ceiling. At least they let me have my smokes. There were no perceptible sounds, despite the number of inmates I knew I had. We all knew that it would do us no good; that we'd never make it out of this place alive. It was Monday, and I'd heard that nobody had lasted more than a week before starvation or execution. I was hoping for the latter, since a fear for drawn-out natural death had caused me to join the army in the first place. What a grim situation. Maybe I'll catch some sleep, at least. Pass the time in oblivion.
   I awoke suddenly to see the guard snarling at me through the bars. "Whatsa matter, boy, you scared?" It's the cowardly types, I knew, who would taunt a dead man. He's just doing this to quell his own ensecurities. Still, frustration overtook me after another comment and I leapt at him. Quickly my arm found its way between two bars and grabbed the guard's shirt. After a sound of surprise, he reached for his belt, maybe he had a gun or mace, but he never got to it quick enough. I pulled him towards me, and he crumpled to the ground with a bar'shaped mark on his forehead. The others felt that I was starting a rebellion, and started rattling the bars on their cells and yelling. I wasn't about to help them out; they probably deserve to be here more than I do anyway. The ring of keys was easy to retrieve from the wounded guard's belt, so I helped myself and felt freedom once more. I began to leave, ignoring my cellmate's angry protests, when I realized that gun might help. I reached for the guard's pocket and sure enough, a sleek fully loaded pistol. That's good, I assured myself, that's good. I walked away.