“Hi,” he said.
I was trapped. I think I was in a basement of some sort, but I have no idea where or for how long. The dark has a way of doing that to you. The only light was a small shaft above and in front of me. I had been given enough food for awhile, but I was chained to the wall and had a broken leg. It had been broken awhile, and I could feel it healing all wrong. Sometimes, it left me in such agony that I screamed until my voice was gone. It didn’t matter though, nobody came, I don’t know if anybody could even hear me. I hadn’t seen anybody in, how long? A week? I wasn’t sure, but I had eaten most of my food, so maybe a week. The only comfort to me, as I sat stewing in my own filth, was a murmur, a TV or a radio outside the basement door. It never left, and for those long stretches of darkness, was the only reminder of a world outside.
“Hello,” I responded.
I don’t even know who the guy that kidnapped me was, or why. All I know is he came down every week, maybe, and resupplied my food. Sometimes he even cleaned me up a little. He had come in now. I saw his shadow as he opened and then closed the door. I could hear the creaking steps as he made his way down, humming that same tuneless way he always did.
“So, what brings you here?” He asked.
I could hear a plastic sack crinkle as he approached me; this weeks rations. This was my chance. I had been digging at the wall for weeks. Today, I finally broke my chain free from it. When I heard the crinkle get close enough, I swung my foot as hard as I could, with the chain still attached. I felt the heavy chain make contact and heard a crack. I think it hit his head, because the bag fell from his hand, and he followed shortly after. I fumbled on the floor and finally found the keys he had dropped with the bag. I awkwardly ran up the stairs, the heavy thunk of my chained foot followed by the hesitant creak of my mangled leg. Luckily, there was only one key on the ring. Quickly, I scraped it into the lock and turned, a satisfying click letting me know it worked. I burst through the door into the first light I had seen in months. My eyes weren’t used to this much light, so I have no idea how the room I ran through looked, but I do remember finally hearing the murmur clearly for the first time. It must have been a TV, some movie playing, as I could hear Morgan Freeman talking. I’m not sure what he was saying, but his smooth, calming voice sounded like freedom as plowed through that house and out the door. I ran down the street and never looked back.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
His voice pulled me out of my daze. “Oh, I’m sorry, just a little overwhelmed,” I replied, a bit embarrassed. “It’s not every day you get to meet Morgan Freeman.”