The prison was made of concentric circles. At the center it was suffocating because we were crammed on top of one another, that was where we all began. In the next circle it was better, as there was more room. With every circle you escaped, you found yourself in prison once again, but you could breathe a little easier.
I had escaped several circles, yet I was never sure: were we few, those of us who climbed the walls, or were we many, made to look sparse by the distance between us? Nor had I concluded if these circles would ever end. Each time, there were fewer and fewer escapees left to ask.
Yet I kept escaping, and perhaps deep down this was my true endeavor: not to become free, but to find a prison where I could breathe.
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