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As a human it is my duty to sit upon the sixth floor of the tower. The imperfections of this world weighing down heavily on my back. I look helplessly to the higher levels, the places I think I should be. "Stay here," the chain around my ankle moans, "you were born here and you shall die here as well. An imperfect creature such as yourself belongs no where else."
Amongst the screams and cries a little bird calls to me from the window high above. "Come now," it sings, "this is no life for you to live. Wouldn't it be easier to just let this hopeless, selfish wish of yours go?" Before I can even answer the bird finds something else to entertain it and flies away. Why? How? How can this little creature be more perfect than I? So free and unbound by its chains of imperfection, why should it be allowed to fly away from this hell?
I claw at the walls of this stone cage, climbing and searching for the lucky creature who could escape this imprissonment which we had all been damned to suffer through. As I climb I can hear the indignant cries of my fellow inmates and the chain still clinging to my ankle. "Stay back! You filthy ingrate! What do you think you're doing? Stay where you belong!" The rusty chain pulled back on my ankle, trying to force me back down. Gritting my teeth I pulled harder, climbed farther, until I had reached the window.
Past my dirt encrusted nose I could see it, a world of green, clashing against my world of brown and black. From my view I could see many other creatures who had, like the bird, escaped the hold of imperfections and now lived outside. I tried to pull up, to see the world better, but my chain held back. "Stay back!" it screeched, "Come away from that!"
I pulled and screamed, why didn't I have the same rights as the creatures outside? Why did I have to suffer for such meaningless reasons? My chains screamed and pleaded until, finally, they said no more, I was flung forward by the sudden snap of the chain and fell from our prison's tower. I fell, fell down until I landed on the soft ground.
I am free from my prison and I will never go back, the cold hard stone has been left behind in the dust. But, the reminder of my imperfections remains, silently hanging from my ankle. Here in this world I can wear it with the pride of knowing how it has made me stronger.

Kinda died there in the end . . . I had to sleep . . . and shower . . . and SLEEP . . . I'm sowwy I'll make it better . . . eventually. . . maybe . . . after the book. . .