Simon threw a chair across the cramped cell and grinned as the fragile wood shattered. Oddly, he didn’t feel any better, though.
He was frustrated and confused. It was the middle of Winterfest when the police had plucked him off the street...for whistling his mother’s favorite song of all things! Didn’t they know who he was?
He was the man who boldly led a squadron across a minefield, saving all of their lives with his brazen determination.
Wearily, Simon sank to the floor and looked the splinters. He bit back a laugh; the wood was nothing more than hollow cane. He tilted his head to the side and squinted, carefully examining the wood.
The accusations still flooded his ears moments after his arrest.
“...stirring up religious fanatics...”
“...against the law to perform forbidden songs...”
Simon’s heart began to pound in his chest as he eyed the knife left with his meal plate. Could he really? The thought remained unfinished in his mind as he stood and grasped the knife, carefully beginning his first act of rebellion.
The notches on the wall multiplied as Simon worked feverishly each night secretly constructing and perfecting his makeshift flute. He knew he had to do this.
Being arrested for a simple song...a Christmas carol at that! He had to prove that they were not dangerous.
He licked his lips, and brought the newly formed flute to his lips and tentatively blew. It had been a long time since Simon had played but he grinned as a trembling, slightly off-pitch note emerged. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work.
Carefully, he played scales, warming up his fingers and lips.
The sudden banging against the door caused Simon to hastily hide the flute in his clothes. The door slammed open and the guard glared at Simon as he looked around the room suspiciously.
Simon smiled. “Yes?”
The guard grunted and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.
Simon chuckled as he pulled the flute back out of his pocket and waited for several moments.
Carefully, he raised his flute back to his lips and licked them once again. Drawing a deep breath, he began to quietly play a haunting melody. He closed his eyes and allowed the music to shift into another haunting song.
His fingers lingered over the holes as he heard another voice from across the hallway singing along with the music.
“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel; that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.”
Simon hesitated for a long moment and in that beat another voice bellowed, “REJOICE! REJOICE! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.”
Simon blinked once and then grinned as he lifted the flute back to his lips and continued in his act of rebellion, this time boldly playing, listening to the multitude of voices echoing through the hallway.
He finally lowered the flute and glanced at the notches on the wall. He smiled and called out, “Merry Christmas everyone!”
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