I found stones.
I made a small fire near the entrance.
Prison had taught me many useless things.
But my grandfather had taught me how to build a fire when I was a child.
The flames were small.
Still, they felt like luxury.
I ate the second half of the banana.
Then the crackers.
I drank carefully.
Water mattered.
By afternoon, I began clearing a flat area to sleep.
That was when I moved the rock.
It sat near the back wall.
Flat.
Wide.
I tried to shift it.
It scraped across the ground.
Then I heard something.
A hollow sound.
I stopped.
Tapped the stone with my knuckles.
Hollow.
I tapped again.
The echo came back.
My heart started beating faster.
I knelt.
There was loose dirt near the edge.
I dug with my fingers.
At first, nothing.
Then more dirt.
Then a piece of rotted cloth.
I pulled harder.
