Looking Out

Freedom comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s the simplest pleasures, the calmest of
escapes, that brings the greatest joys in life. A fine day is the best kind of day, ambient and
amiable to all the senses, the kind of day that gives you the freedom to be who you want to
be. The pale blue sky, an impeccable guardian of our atmosphere, that chases the sunlight
like a lost dog, ensures a blank canvass on which our imagination is free. It is here, balancing
on top the silky grass requiring that time pauses and elongates to places vast of our
ingenuity, the blue and the green exhibiting one another’s elegance in their disparity. The
ongoing traffic blaring as if it had this vociferous nature to it, blended with the raucous of
defiant pets. However, this one dog stood out to me. A Labrador, with these lagoon-blue
eyes, stared me down as if I were his dinner. He was alert, expressive, but to me that was all
a charade. I saw through him. This dog wanted to run off into the sunset, free from the
restraint of domestication. But he knew it was impossible, he could never be free. Like me.

The pond was scintillating sun rays as if it were a mirror left to cook in the sun. Blues and
purples and greens and yellows all intertwined to form this beauty of a creation. Aside the
river was a rustic, dating back to the Nordic times, bench that mourned the death of a
leader, HARTHACANUT 1018-42 YOU’LL FOREVER BE LOVED. This message was engraved
into the bench on an alloyed metal plaque, that was clearly authentic thanks to the fluffy
mycelia covering most of it. A lady sat, ever beautiful and eccentric, wearing the most
exquisite scarf I had ever seen. Patterns that the human eye couldn’t explain, rivalled with
this rich red blend that matched her kimono. Affluency coursed through her veins. On the
surface of the river there is a duck, white headed with the most orange-bill I’ve ever seen.
Dipping his head in and out the water and shaking it to rid the excess from the fluff of his
feathers. The droplets flying wayward into the still, ripple-less water creating tiny circles
pushing outwards as if they were trying to escape.

A park was situated along the rear end of the pond, new to the area. The playground’s
sunshine transformed into the wings of butterflies and laughter of children. A family of 3,
mother and two kids, were spending the day in the park. The kids, primed with youth, flying.
The most thrilling feeling. The feeling that you’re levitating, that you control what happens.
Freedom. This dual-swing set was planted on a pure oak foundation coupled with the

Charlie Howard
tarmac black seats, the main attraction of the park. The mother sat by just watching her kids
as if she had just received millions of pounds. She was so proud of them, she felt free. Each
kid had a small green backpack with blue straps, although one of them was missing a strap,
they both pulled out sandwiches wrapped in foil and sat next to their mother inside the
covered pavilion. The shade looked refreshing although I’d never know. The kids had on
brightly coloured clothes with dinosaurs planted directly in the centre. And the mum wore a
yellow sundress with sunflowers all over, although it had this slight raggedy-look to it. It was
obvious that she struggled as a single mother in the big city, but she would never let her kids
know that. She only wanted the best for them.

Further east, towards the town, there was a newly refurbished sidewalk. It had ATM
machines, many new nightclubs to appeal to the younger population. It was a saturated
spot for the poor. A haven for the homeless, a world beyond appearance and wealth. One
man caught my eye. He had this smile that was cold and lovely as frost on a windowpane, all
these problems but he didn’t care. His unkempt persona expressed his definite need for
help. Unwashed silver hair strangled his shoulders like vines around a pipe; the top half of
his body covered in grime and dirt. He wasn’t new to the streets. The bottom half of this
man remained a mystery, although it would be difficult to guess, as he was covered by the
remains of a venerable grey sleeping bag. Even with all these troubles, his smile pertained -
it really made me think, how was he happy? Happier than me. I could only salvage a single
answer. He was free. The idea that there was a better tomorrow, that he could win the
lottery or find true love, was enough for him. Enough to keep that smile on his face.

A buzzer rang out for long enough to catch everyone’s attention. A deep manly voice on the
intercom stated, “All inmates line up and wait to be escorted to your cell.” Break was over.

My name is Oscar Martinez, I’m 37 years old, I’m living out a life sentence for 1st degree
murder on several occasions - inside of Great Meadow Correctional Facility.

Guards killed our sense of freedom, by detaining our hands with their suffocating restraints.
These handcuffs ridded us of our liberation. Four plain ripple concrete walls, a singular steel
door with no windows, just a serving hatch that opens from the outside. This was my life. No
way out, nowhere to go. In despair I thought to myself, “Freedom comes in many forms.

Charlie Howard
Sometimes it’s the simplest pleasures, the calmest of escapes, that brings the greatest joys
in life, I would do anything for it.”

Charlie Howard