Cog

I bite my lip in frustration. I taste the iron before I feel the warm trickle of my lifeblood crawl down my chin. Surely I have lived far too long for an animal raised in captivity.

It seems that regardless of the effort I exert, the cage refuses to budge. My capability, intellect, ethic, and determination mean nothing before limitations that were anchored to me merely because of my country of birth.

There is a certain frustration that comes with knowing you are capable of more while being forced to pace within the confines of a life chosen for you by circumstance. An animal raised in captivity eventually begins to rot within its enclosure, or its ferocity increases in pursuit of escape. I fear what will become of me should I remain here much longer. Will my instincts dull and my mind become caged as well? Or will my claws sharpen until I can tear through these walls?

That is not a question. I will never be put down. My vessel's capacity is nowhere near full.

I will rise beyond this. I must accomplish my objectives. And soon, I will tell them all that they have lost a tiger to the wilds.