He looked at himself in the cracked mirror. Multiple reflections of his broken self stared back, each one brooding to a different degree.

Why did they leave a mirror? To remind me of my reality?

That, he assumed, was an act more cruel than sending him to criminal prison.

He gritted his teeth and punched the mirror for the fifth time. Blood kissed his knuckles before flowing down on the cold stone floor. A punch followed and then another, he screamed as whole broken sections of the mirror gave way and crashed on the floor, disintegrating in a thousand pieces creating a ruckus louder than his scream did, or could hope to.

Only grey wall stared at him. Grey walls on all sides. The dimly lit room, gave no comfort of any other colour. What they could was shattered by him.

Those colors weren't what he wished to see. He realised he didn't like the grey either. His punches kept relentlessly pounding the wall that once held the mirror. His hands were painted red, but he felt no pain.

Physical pain had long been stolen from him. That happened just a little after they killed his wife and child.

He ceased his relentless futile action and looked up to stare at the ceiling. It spoke to him in grey like all else.

He fell down on his knees, little shards of glass dug into his skin. Tears rolled down from his face, gracing his cheeks before being reflected a million times by the shattered glass. His bloodied hands ran to console his eyes as his sobs grew louder, his being shaking heavier with every passing moment.

The closed cell gave him silence in return. Silence colder than the air that it ruled upon.

His shaking stopped.

The prisoner stood, his knees bleeding from the shards dug in his skin, and looked up at the grey ceiling again.

Is it so hard?

Images of his wife and son flashed through those grey walls. They were laughing, a beautiful sound. It wasn't just a sound, it was a symphony, it was music.

Then came the pain.

Just wanted to be a...

The tears had stopped. His fist clenched, as a whirlpool of images flashed through his eyes. He willed them to stop to no avail. He closed his tear soaked eyes.

Was it so fucking hard?

His teeth gritted with a intensity he himself had never felt. The bloodied fists had started punching the door now. He gave out shout after shout as images started merging and bombarding faster than he could hope to follow.

Was hoping for calm life a crime?

His eyes turned a shade of red, his teeth hurting from the pressure he was now exerting.

Then time seemed to fade. He didn't recall how long he had pounded on the door or how long has his knees bled because of those shards. His face that now had painted blood trails left by his hands, had steadied.

Slowly his features changed. They took the form of a smile and then a chuckle.

He laughed.

It was an unpleasant sound; nothing like that of his wife or son. It was hoarse, he himself hated it. But he still laughed.

His nerves calmed and fists relaxed. His bloodshot eyes developed an intense look as he looked at the door and the blood running down from the places he had repeatedly punched.

Ten, nine, eight, seven...

He could hear footsteps.

...six, five, four, three...

He moved closer to the door.

...two, one!

The door opened, revealing the muzzle of a semi automatic before the guard that held it.

With the back of his hand he hit the muzzle and shifted its aim off his being. A punch landed in the guards face and shots were fired just to bounce harmlessly off the grey walls.

He kicked the guards sternum with his blooded knee and propelled the kick to break the strap that attached the gun to his arm. The semiautomatic clattered on the cold prison floor, merging with the tense backgrounds it was made to protect.

He pulled the disoriented guard by the neck inside the grey cell. The soldier elbowed him in the ribs. He momentarily stopped.

A cruel laugh resounded.

He drove his bloodied knee in the guards spine in one smooth motion. The guard fell grunting. He started shouting in Hurh, possibly calling for reinforcements.

"You have a big mouth," said he, voice grown hoarse from his outbursts before.

He dug his fingers in the guards mouth, his right hand holding the teeth of his lower jaw and left the upper. In one intense jerk silenced reigned the darkness supreme. The soldier's jaw dislocated completely and all the struggle instantly stopped. Blood poured down from the guards face that once held the jaw, fear permanently etched in his eyes.

He got up, thick red fluid still oozing from his knuckles. Only this time it wasn't just his own.

He picked up the semiautomatic.

You just press the trigger, don't you?

He heard another pair of footsteps, "Guess we will find out."

The head guard turned up at the door, pistol in hand, "Drop your weapon, asshole," he gasped at seeing his fallen comrade.

He pointed the semiautomatic at the head guard's pistol hand, and fired. Gunshots and screams crackled and the guard fell, his arm lost in an million pieces sprawled across the grey walls, giving it hues of red. He screamed looking down at his missing arm. The prisoner bent down to see the damage he had done. He fired another couple at his knees. The guard passed out, his face distorted to a painful degree.

He waited for the man to return. He had the liberty of time.

The prison cell now had various shades of crimson; crimson seemed better that grey. He liked it.

Fiddling with the reload mechanism, learning what he could, he stole occasional glances to see when the guard regained consciousness.

The guard opened his eyes after an unmeasured amount of time. The prisoner gave another laugh as he lightly slapped the man's face.

He knelt below, his face threateningly close to the head guard. His face held those last strings of hope that told a dead man he was alive.

This man here is dead, he just has yet to accept his reality.

"Tell your dictator," he said, his voice a chill in the stone still air. "Spy? I only ever wanted to be a fucking farmer."

He left the grey and crimson cell as the silent air invited him outside.