1 minute read
Inmate, Sally Jamrog ’23
Sally Jamrog ’23
Inmate
Cupped hands deliver The Secret into my ear. A whisper, so soft it barely counts as breathed air, nestles itself into the wrinkles of my brain, wallowing silently.
“Don’t tell,” murmurs the messenger.
“I won’t,” I say. But, secretly, I feel The Secret pulse in response.
It’s easy to forget my secret duty to another, but when every other word seems to poke and prod The Secret free, I fear that one day soon the words will coax their way to liberty and make a marionette of my tongue.
My teeth clamp down on my fleshy communicator from such a thought. Could it do such a thing? A tongue cannot take bribes like hands, but would it be so easily swindled by The Secret? Even now I feel the words slither to the forefront of my mind, staring out of the backs of my eyes. Are they really windows to the soul or to the mind? Can others see The Secret basking in my gloom? Dancing in my sockets? Mocking my misery?
I check upon my prisoner periodically, tightening the shackles on its wily words, though I know no bounds can hold its fiendish heart. One day I feel The Secret prepare to greet the air for the second time, as if it can sense my thoughts, splitting my seams. It bursts forth.