First came the smell of the flowers

First came the smell of the flowers. Tulips, or orchids, he wasn't sure. His eyes closed, head arched back, the smell of the cool, spring air hitting him. This is what he noticed first on his first day out of prison.

He took a large whiff and gently lowered his head. He opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the guards shoe as the guard stepped back through the door, closing off the view to the newly released man. No more would he see that wretched place.

The sun seemed brighter. The air crisper, sky bluer.

He heard birds chirp in the trees overhead. It's not that he didn't hear birds in the prison, but that now they sounded different. If before they were sounds, empty reminders of the life outside, today they were a melody.

He began his stroll down the road, each step reinvigorating his sense of freedom. With each step, each stride of one foot in front of the other, he felt one chain broken off the shackle. One day of the past ten years erased from mind.

Truth be told, he didn't know what to think. For so long, he had thought only of the day ahead; that was the only way he knew to make his sentence manageable. Now, faced with a world of possibility and uncertainty, he found himself lost and quite afraid.