Me. You. Coffee.

James Frederick Evans, or “little Jimmy” as he was known to his nearest and dearest, had been imprisoned for over 3 years now. Trapped inside his little red cell with very little wriggle room. He’d run and jump and play never more.

He’d not seen the signs. He’d known not to keep off the grass. Known not that the green, green grass was there for visual pleasure only. Not to be felt under foot or hand or ball. It was purely there to be seen and nothing more.

Little Jimmy looked out upon the world in envy. The location of the prison his greatest torment. There he was, surrounded as far as the eye could see, by luscious emerald blades. Here he would languish forevermore.

Submitted as part of Sunday Photo Fiction.