A Punishment

The attendants were late with my fifth meal, so I passed water on the heap of rags they take turns to collapse upon.

There is not even one row of bars next to it. I suppose this is because their lives are so cheap that no one cares if they fall to their deaths. Nor have they the device which assures the world of my breath (my life is so valuable that its vital signs must be constantly monitored). Still, one hopes a damp rag heap will improve their work ethic.

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