He was thinking all day about escaping.
He would say he wasn’t, but he would be lying.
It was the only thing of importance.
Not just for him, but for all the ones depending on him.
He would also deny anyone depended on him.
He’d claim there were many things more important than his personal escape.
He, Frank Pepsin, was deeply flawed.
Cracked. Broken. Scattered.
What little dignity remained sat in the corner of his memories. Its face to the wall. It didn’t want to see what had to be done, to be free.
It didn’t want to hear all the reasons he should try.
How others had failed and paid for it. Dearly.
How he was not ready.
Frank Pepsin was nobody. He had no right to challenge this unfortunate situation.
Besides, what if things weren’t what they seemed?
What if he was actually where he was supposed to be?
Forget the apple. He didn’t want to know. Things aren’t that bad, Frank thought to himself.
But they were.
And Frank knew it, even without the fabled apple.
And it had nothing to do with good and evil.
Nothing so grandiose.
Or if it had something to do with that damn apple
then it wasn’t with the apple itself, but the worm inside.
That little tunnel of squirming agency that knew the difference between right and wrong.
So Frank decided it would be done.
And so it happened.
That one more tortured soul flung itself into the unyielding bars of circumstance.
And through force of movement, contortion of shape, pounding of heart, twisting of mind, came once more to the same conclusion as all those in the cell that dared to try: there was no exit until the exit.
And it was wise of Frank Pepsin to finally and completely realize this. And return to his seat.
Staring at the bars now with complete resignation, like all the others.
And it was lucky. As he walked back to where he began this crazy venture, his eyes never lifted beyond his seat.
To the open door in the back of the cell.
Because it would make this story a lie.