I had to scream. It scrabbled at my heart, clawing up my throat like an oily black rat squirming to get out. My insides burned with the scars of unvented emotions, etched upon my soul.

The scream was a separate entity, trapped within me, and desperate to be free. I longed to shatter the silence of this quiet forest, to make the tree’s inky black shadows tremble, and the lake shiver with the strength of my voice.

I had been trained so long to be still, be mute, that it had made me invisible. Now I was free, and the demon of black rage and brimming insanity would be silent no longer.

I screamed, with every bit of my anger and resentment in me. With my eyes closed I was enveloped in the torrent of my reclaiming, taking back the will, which had been stolen from me.

When my throat had become raw and my breath run out, I fell to my knees and wept. Tears of joy, tears of sadness ached so long, and finally to cry, because once in my life I could.

My tears dried and I felt release, that scream had been my irrefutable liberation, pushing me through my last barrier of fear.

The bloody knife slipped from my fingers, it’s point lodging in the silty muddy ground. My captors were dead. I was free. All those nights of fantastical dreams had finally become reality.

I washed my blood and dirt caked palms in the cool, calm lake water. No guilt was harbored in my heart. I had been a prisoner far too long for that. My hands cleansed, I stood and turned with out a backward glance, walking into the forest, toward civilization and the promise of a life that was all mine.