If Jim Stark had to find one thing he loved about his bedroom, it would be the way the light scattered as it passed through his windows and into the enclosed space; tall elongated shadows interspersed with the beauty of the morning. It was a constant reminder and promise of life, yet to come. Despite the difficulties that he faced each day, there was one thing that he could always be sure of; the sun would always rise, and with each day, he would get a step closer to the end. Daybreak was always bitter-sweet.

He threw back the covers, swung two heavy and weary feet onto the floor, and then stared back at his bedsheets with a wry smile. He had often contemplated what it would be like to escape the pain and mundanity of his world. He imagined tying sheets end-to-end - an escape rope down the side of the outside wall... or perhaps he could rip one into shreds and fashion a loop with a slipknot... his thoughts trailed off. Once upon a time... they had both seemed like viable options.

He ran his hand under the bedframe and, retrieving a small silver key, unlocked his bedside drawer to reveal two small black books. Setting the heavier one aside, he paged through the other, each page adorned with photographs.

A snapshot taken on a family vacation at the coast when he was five years old. Happy smiling faces stared back at him. His mom's gaze filled with adoration for her brood of three. His father - always steadfast and proud. More photos followed - the holiday at the lake when he was eight, the one at the mountain cabin - eleven years old... many more at the beach house where he had spent countless summer weekends with his Nana and Granddad.

He continued to turn the pages of his life. School sports days, Junior prom, the football team, athletics squad... countless years of Trick or Treating with friends, Thanksgivings with family. So many great memories of a wonderful childhood. He drew them all in, and then...
Senior Prom.

He stopped at the final picture of two young kids in love... two kids who barely understood the meaning of the word but who were nonetheless swept up in whatever it had meant at the time. This had been their moment. His mom had been so proud of him.

My smart and handsome boy...

... is what she had called him - satin dinner jacket, black bowtie, and cumberbund... hair slicked back... and then there was Sally... His princess... stunningly beautiful and frozen in time.

He continued to leaf through the book... He imagined all the images that should have occupied the remaining pages of the photo album... but instead, all that faced him was one blank page after another. The true story of an empty and unfulfilled life.

He slammed the covers shut, and two small cards fell from the final pages onto the rug at his feet. Bending down to retrieve them - he allowed himself fully to experience the magnitude of the moment - in his hands he held a pristine pair of unused after-party tickets from twenty years before.

He got up and walked over to the washbasin. His reflection - now expressionless - met him in the creased folds of the peeling aluminium coating contained within the small square frame. His resting face had been forever changed. Somewhere over the years, any remaining sparks of joy had dissipated. He knew he would have to work on getting that back.

He ran the cool tap water through his fingers and then straightened his hair. He turned his head towards the knock... just as a small parcel was slid under the door.

Noting the sender, he tossed the soft brown paper package onto the bed - inside a new pair of trousers and a clean shirt, no doubt. His mom always did want him to look his best, no matter the occasion. She would be there to pick him up... she would take him to visit Sally. She would know that this was the one thing he needed more than anything else in the world.

Closure.

He hadn't touched a drop since that night. It had been a stupid dare. A game of chicken that had gone wrong. The night of Senior Prom he had wrapped up his high school career... looking forward to starting college in the Fall... It was also the night he had wrapped his father's car around the lamppost at the intersection of State and Main, and the night he had wrapped his arms around Sally for the last time as she took her final breath.

He had not been welcome at her memorial service. Her family had made that clear, from the outset. And all efforts to reach out to them over the years had drawn a blank. Now more than anything, he needed to say goodbye; to share his remorse, to tell her that he was sorry. He had paid his debt to society and it was time to let go.

He misted up, exhaled and stared down at the two books that represented his life. He thought back to a film that he had watched and enjoyed for its compelling ingenuity, and its portrayal of an unlikely friendship that had blossomed under extraordinary circumstances, between two men seeking hope and redemption in a world of private pain.

The true lesson in The Shawshank Redemption, he concluded, lay not in the tale of a daring and clever prison escape, nor in the friendship between Red and Andy, one a murderer and the other an innocent man. Instead, it lay in the ultimate realisation that in the end the key to real freedom was salvation. True peace and the only light that could permanently replace the darkness in his own life was to be found within the pages of that same book that Andy had hollowed out to hide his rock hammer. Cover to cover those pages were not blank and it is from within them that he too could start anew. The truth indeed had set him free... years before today's release.

He took one last look at the room that had been his home for the best part of twenty years. One last look at the elongated bars partially blocking the light, always casting long shadows across his life. And with that he left the memories of his old unfulfilled life on the open shelf, tucked his bible under his arm, and walked out the door... to freedom.