Ficlets

Chains grate across the metal flooring. The chains are heavy. The draw me down and make me wish I were dead. The whip cracks again. I rise up and try to return to mining for gold. I look around. Bodies lie strewn around, my friends, and my family all destroyed by the wielders of the whips and their masters. My wings are broken, my soul shattered. I have no hope, no peace, and no rest. How will I escape? How will I return to what I was? I know not.