Little Comforts
As I lay in my bunk in the low dim light of my withering candle, I can't help but risk taking a look at my precious treasure. The contours, the way it catches the light, the interesting shape...I always trace it with my fingers and it sparks something within me I can not quite place, something I've perhaps never known, something stored within the primitive recesses of my psyche. Hope in this God-forsaken place. If I were caught I'd be brutally reprimanded, killed even, for coveting a treasure such as this. But what it brings to me in this dying place of tortured souls is worth the risk.