Every morning for as long as he could remember he heard the delicate footsteps descending and the rough loaf of bread and clay jug of water slammed on the ground beside his straw mat, every morning he recited prayers after the voice's even-toned instruction, every morning the voice instructed him to not remove the blindfold until he counted to one hundred, every morning he listened to the footsteps moving away and out of the cellar and he counted to one hundred and took the blindfold off. One day a great rebellion arose in him and he removed the blindfold as soon as he woke up and waited for the footsteps.
And when they did not come that day, or that night, or the next day, and there was no bread or water, he took his first halting terrified steps up the stairs, marveling at hearing the sound of his steps for the first time.
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