The Smell of Freedom

N.S. Nitish



The sun rays stopped falling on the floor from the grilled vent, because now it was standing in the middle of the sky, overlooking everything there is to overlook, from the top.



“What would you do when you’re finally set free tomorrow?” asked the prison guard.



“Smell a rose,” said the prisoner who was about to finish his sentence in a day.



“Smell a rose! Seriously?”



“7 years I’ve only imagined what a rose smells like, and that imagination too, stemmed from a distant memory. So yes, I want to smell a rose as soon as I step out of the prison gates,” said the weary, yet hopeful prisoner.





The End