[Flash Fiction] No free lunch

Tried playing a bit with changing POV's and ambiguity on flash fiction, not sure on the result though.

Anxiety weighs on the prisoner’s weary form. The one he saw as a redeemer was far from it. It was something far more complex. Exhaustion threatens to consume him, yet he strides ahead, on the verge of his limit. He raises his gaze to the top of the wall — no more room for evasion, grass or bullet awaits.

He is the cockroach, hidden within the dewy moss. No turning back now, only forward to go. Following his training, he grapples the loose bricks. His grip scratches the surface, it hurts, it weakens. He slips once, he slips twice. He thought it was going to be easy, but as it turns out, it was just more labor.

Left on his own, his dreams of crossing borders linger. Feet touch the ground, a vibration tours his body. Too much pain, his foot fell first, top over bottom. Something is broken. He must move on. Scaling the wall was the easy part, he thinks. Now, the challenge is to remain unseen. In the darkness, the cockroach moves with stealth, escaping the piercing beams that would sear his flesh and usher his demise.

The watchtower guard is vigilant, an insatiable lust for the chase keeps him alert. Sweat trickles down his forehead as he squints, determined to spot the elusive cockroach and put an end to his ordeal. The plan was straightforward — create a diversion, release the prisoner, savor the free meal. But, as he realizes, there is no free lunch.

The cockroach creeps low, the overgrown vegetation concealing him well. It's only a matter of time now, he thinks, the river holds his freedom.

The drone hounds are set loose, their keen sense of heat drawing them from afar. The guard’s fear dissipates, knowing he has everything under control. No one will slip away.

The damp earth whispers of hope. It won't be long, he thinks. Hands stained with blood from jumping the wall. The throbbing pain from his fractured toes pulses through the leg. The aroma of rain-soaked soil is strangely comforting. The dampness of his clothes, less so. Green foliage sticks to his face as he continues to crawl. He can hear the river's murmur close by.

Movement stirs the undergrowth, and the guard has no seconds to waste. His gaze darts around; the hounds trail distantly.

The guard steadies, the guard targets. The wind rustles his attire, his hat is sent flying off. A quiver runs through his arm. Too much work this was. No inclination to make amends wells within him. He presses the trigger, the sound reverberates into the distance. Recoil jolts his shoulder. He observes, he scrutinizes, he prays.

The river embraces its visitor, the roach contends with the powerful currents. The burden is lifted, he can rest now, it’s time to go home. It was too much labor. It was worth it.