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A Modicum of Possibilities

Sickly odors and effluvia fill my nostrils as I sit here, fermenting. They’ve taken my normal emotions and unknowingly replaced them with a single and formidable surrogate: Rage.
You see, unlike the other prisoners here, I am not a Jew. I was adopted by a Jewish family, a cover family, and I trained like a mad dog ever since I was old enough to complete a coherent sentence. But these scum, they can’t tell the difference. My fake subservience is about as transparent as glass, but they’re blinded by their confidence, their “dominion”. I respect them, my fellow prisoners, but I know I cannot rely on them to free themselves. I will have to pull them to freedom, each and every one, on my back. Then I’ll get what I came for.

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