Rooms in a wall – same size, same shape, only the the slightest difference in color, the most individuality allowed, windows so small nobody could ever see in– stretched on in both directions. Inside, they sat in their cells: eating, breathing, thinking, hoping, waiting. At night, they tapped against the walls in the secret language they had made, letting the word be spread: they would rise and be prisoners no more.
This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Dmitri Popov for providing the prompt photo!