To the outside world, the sunny day was a time of great enjoyment. A day of rest and peace, a time of enjoyment.
But as the prisoner took up his pickaxe, breaking rocks with nothing but his own strength, he saw this day as a day in hell.
Inside the walls of the prison, his torture came slowly and painfully. It was as though the pickaxe was being shoved into his back. The sun glaring down at his side, burning his skin to a crisp as he threw the heavy pickaxe at the ground, trying to force it open, it truly was torture. The sun, high above him, seemed to be taunting and mocking him.
He could hear children laughing and playing, though none were nearby. He thought he was going mad, but he realised he was remembering his own childhood. A peaceful time, a time where he had done nothing wrong. He stopped. He tried to think where he had went wrong, why he had committed a crime, why he was here. It was then, that the prison warden came up, and punched him in the face. Laziness would not be tolerated here.
A sudden chill ran through him. He he was approaching dangerous territory. He returned to his work, he returned to his torture.
The sun continued to taunt him. The sweat kept falling from his face at great speed. Whatever he had done, nothing deserved this.
Hour after hour, the torture continued. Pain rushed through him. Life was sucked away from him.
The day ended at last. He was not glad, however.
The torture would begin again tomorrow.