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The Prisoner

He sat in the cell, twiddling his thumbs. He had nothing else to do. In the cubicle he had called home for the past three days he had done a lot of thinking and a hell of lot of soul searching. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway and other prisoners calling out to the orc guard. Either complaining or pleading. To him it was just the same. The rough orc stopped in front of his bars. 

"You," the gruff being said. "It's your turn to die." 

"Well now," Drake said. "We all eventually die." 

"It's your turn today," the guard told him as he unlocked the cell door. 

"That's what you think," Drake mumbled under his breath. He could have gotten out of this place days ago but decided to stay and rest and enjoy the days of maggot-infested gruel to eat and a lumpy bed to lay on. It was heaven compared to the last place he had been.