Prisoners (S. Loomis)

So here I am. Here in the prison of Bastille. I am one of seven unlucky nobles who not only am imprisoned but also am about to be slaughtered by maniacs in the street. They're rebels, but so are the people that put me here in the first place. They think I'm a lunatic, but quite honestly they are the mad ones. Anyways, everyone thinks it's silly for the tax payers to pay to run this large establishment if there are only seven of us in here. We're all annoyed at the raucous that the third estate is making though. I know that this will be my end, and to live life in a cell like this honestly would be more drab than dying. So I guess this is a way of freeing myself from this cell, and most of all this world. I'm a church goer, I do good things. Opposed to popular belief I am not crazed and deranged. I will be happy once dead. It will get me out of this terrible position.