I grit my teeth together at the sound of footsteps approaching my cell. Words I’ll never speak are caught in my throat like stale bread. There is no water to wash them down, only a space behind my tongue that holds them in place. If I listen closely, there’s a third set of steps walking ahead of the guards. He makes his impending presence more known as he drags his cane along the floor. Once there was a time I feared the screech of it, but as the years passed I’ve come to hate it more...