Historical fiction: The tragic life of Albrecht von Haar in journal format
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The Prisoner Beetle dream

I have been having a recurring dream. I am locked in a dank prison cell somewhere in Berlin. I know I am in Berlin because I recognize the church steeple rising above the prison wall in the distance.

A large beetle tries unsuccessfully to right itself on the concrete windowsill of the cold, stone-floored room. Its legs gyrate in slow but methodical motion as it attempts to grasp something, anything, to pull itself upright.

I immediately recognize that the plight of the unfortunate insect is remarkably similar to my own. I am unable to get my bearings in this topsy-turvy world. Gently, I push the struggling beetle through the iron bars of the window and watch longingly as it tumbles over the sill, downward to freedom and perhaps even flight. If only my own deliverance could be so easily obtained.

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