Drawing A Cage For You Novels & Stories

I picked a random cage and went to it, taking a moment to look at the begging people in them as I searched for a possible lock or switch that could unlock these mini-prisons. I spent two minutes, looking for their escape lever when my eyes noticed something sparkle at a different angle than the rest of the black metal. I reached for it and observed the black needle-like thing. My instincts told me to push it. I placed my finger against the blunter end, pushing it in and the latch of the cage fell on me. I gagged because the people were already pouring out even though I was still under but luckily, they weren’t strong enough to move quickly and also, and they were also fighting over who’d go

I go with him, curious about what Layla has developed. She shows me and Jasper the cage, explaining that it’s made from various branches from different tree species, all of which are known to have magical properties or be toxic to rabbits. The ribbons, strings, and vines used to tie it together all strengthen the wards on the cage. “While he’s inside, it’s impossible for him to shift or use any of his powers,” Layla tells us. “And what if he escapes?” Jasper asks.

I mumble and I wait for the men and women to go ahead of me and I know we will save them all. I stagger towards the cage. The Patger looks at me and I smile at it. “Don’t eat me and I will get you get out of here.” I say as I unlock the cage. It watches me as I open the door and move to the collar around its neck. I unlock it and the collar falls. I step back, watching it as it steps out, yawns and stretches. “Ready to have some fun?” I ask and it chuffs at me and rubs its head against my hand and rubs its body around my legs. I turn and walk towards the stairs that lead to the stage.

She jerked her hand back. “I need a way out,” she muttered. “There has to be a way out of here.” She moved to the opposite end of the cage, tracing every seam with her hand, every corner, and every tiny imperfection she could find. But there were none. The cage was seamless…one perfect prison cast from a single structure, with the glowing things that seemed to be controlling everything. Her eyes drifted again to the other specimens. A wolf with metal shackles fused into its paws, another with tubes forced down its throat, and the half shifted man frozen in an eternal scream.

Just sitting on the floor with her back against the door, trying to remember how to be a person instead of a performance. After several minutes, she forced herself up and moved to her desk. Her sketchbook waited there, familiar and comforting. She opened it to a blank page and picked up a pencil. She'd intended to design something—a dress, maybe, or a jacket. Something beautiful to remind herself she was more than Mrs. Leon Mercer. Instead, she found herself drawing a cage. Delicate. Ornate. Beautiful. And inside it, a bird with its wings clipped. She stared at the drawing for a long moment, then viciously crossed it out.

But just by reaching out, I touch metal bars and realize I’m in a cage. The ground is rumbling beneath the cage, and I slowly realize that I’m in a crate in the back of a boxed-in truck. Something like a moving van, maybe, I’m not totally sure. But I’m definitely being transported somewhere without my knowledge. Caged like this, they clearly don’t want me sneaking off while I’m taken. Tracing my hands along the bars, I quickly determine which side of the cage is meant to swing open and put all of my weight into trying to force the lock. But this isn’t a cheap cage. The owner did not skimp on the material or the lock.

"Need your lock-picking skills. Behind the old gym. Now." ‎He showed up fifteen minutes later with two other Void members, Raze and Kira. ‎"You're serious about this?" Cyprus asked, eyeing the cage. ‎"Look at it. It's dying." ‎"Aurora, that sign says—" ‎"I know what it says." I met his eyes. "Are you going to help me or not?" ‎Cyprus studied me for a moment, then pulled out his tools. "Your funeral." ‎The lock clicked open. I approached slowly, keeping my movements calm. The dog didn't lunge or attack. It simply stood, swaying slightly, and walked out of the cage. The dog looked gaunt and hungry.

It was heavy, and it was suffocating, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a cage. It felt like a countdown. I reached for the art supplies I had secretly brought back from Noah’s warehouse. I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal. I didn't draw a bird this time. I didn't draw a landscape. I drew a door. And I drew it wide open.

he recalls with a laugh. ‘Caged’ By Martha Magdalena This cage my life Me useless to change it I know every corner of the cage I don’t know my capturers But I know their rules I know the consequences They want me to entertain them But I won’t Faces pressed to the window Cameras in their hand They search the cage for me They read the sigh Which has no insight to me They leave snacks in plain sight Wanting me to come out To give in to temptation But I won’t I am in control of my actions

They turned the corner into the old dye room. It had once been a place of color—vats, pipes, and rollers. Now it was gray and ghosted, machinery hulking in the dim light. Two more men stood near an improvised cage made from welded bars and old equipment. One had a dart gun. The other held a remote of some kind, thumb poised over a button. Inside the cage, on a stained pallet, Luna sat with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around a stuffed wolf whose tail was half‑torn off.