Prisoner

    She was the strong one. The one who took care of everyone.

    Another fist fell across her face. She spat out blood. Every blow was more painful than the last. She was getting tired.

    Whenever anyone had a problem or needed someone to talk to, it was always she that had a free shoulder and a patient ear. She never really said anything. But no one seemed to mind. 

    The cuffs were biting into her wrists behind her. She no longer had the strength to get off her haunches to kneel upright. She no longer felt the cold concrete on the front of her legs. The black boots in front of her were all that she saw, now. She hadn’t seen his face in weeks. One boot reared back, ready at any moment to come back, careening towards her face.

    Was it only last year that she became her nephew’s godmother? She was so excited to be asked.

    She managed to turn her head away at the last moment, causing the boot to slam into her shoulder. Something popped. Explosions of pain echoed through her body. Her arm went limp. With her wrists bound behind her, there was nothing she could do to ease her agony.

    “Are you going to be my mommy now?” A six year old girl peered from behind the ivory skirts of the gown that the woman was trying on.  The older of the pair looked into the girl’s eyes through the mirror. Icy pools gazed back. Just like her father’s. “Well,” she hesitated, pushing one stray, russet curl behind her ear. “Marrying your father doesn’t automatically make me your mother. But I’d love to be, if you want. That’s your decision.” The girl seemed thoughtful for a few minutes, then turned her face up to look at her friend. “I’ll let you know when I decide.” A few moments passed. “I like this dress.” The woman turned and smoothed out the skirt. “Me, too.”

    A hand reached into the remains of her hair. It had been roughly cut with a combat knife a few weeks ago, but now there was just enough for a small handhold of dirty brown scruff. A swift upward yank forced the exhausted woman onto her bare feet. “Go.” A cold voice demanded. She stumbled into the next room, where more hands grabbed around her arms. Her right shoulder was still dislocated, but was mercilessly wrenched from her side. Colors flooded her eyes in cacophony of pain.

    The landscape was beginning to form. Steady mountains displayed all the colors of the sunset. She laid down her paintbrush to assess the progress. She felt someone behind her. “Beautiful,” a man’s voice said. Her husband’s voice was not very deep, but it was the most calming sound she had ever heard. “And the painting’s pretty, too.” She giggled delightedly at his cliché. He gently pushed the hair away from  the woman’s face and leant over to kiss her cheek. He touched his lips to her face as if to a gossamer of silk. She smiled, turning to his lips. Their mouths brushed softly, then pressed together tenderly.  She stood, wrapping her arms around his neck. He embraced her, pulling her close. He pulled his lips away for a moment, leaning his forehead against hers. “You are…” he seemed at a loss for words. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “My precious treasure.”  He opened his eyes to find her staring into them, grinning . She kissed him hard this time, pushing him back towards the bed.

    Somehow she was still on her feet when a man came close to her. He screamed something incoherent into her bruised and dirty face. She shook her head groggily. “I don’t understand,” she scratched out hazily through her bleeding lips. More shouts and blows rained about her. Finally, a cuff from behind caught her off balance, and she crumpled to the concrete floor. More screaming swirled about her pounding skull. Finally, some of it came into focus. “Get up! Get up!” She could not. The boot came again, crashing into her ribs. The force of the blow sent her sprawling to her stomach. From there, she managed to crawl up onto her hands and knees. She felt someone grabbing her by the remains of the shirt she was wearing and lifting her up. The top three buttons popped off as she was wrenched upwards. She turned her head to see who held her. He looked down at the gaping top of her shirt. She clutched the opening and jerked away from his gaze. Another blow fell upon her back. She was not allowed to fall this time. She was caught by the waist and slammed against another wall. Someone took off the handcuffs. She crumpled to the floor again, but this time she was not caught by the concrete. She fell face-down into a dirty mattress. “No!” she shouted. She felt someone kneel behind her. Suddenly she found the strength to stand. “Get away from me!” A man grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her down onto her back. She felt his weight on top of her and closed her eyes. She screamed silently, her entire body thrashing under the attack. She began to cry.

    Applause filled the stadium, highlighted with cheers and whistles. The girl walked towards the microphone, her royal blue cap and gown catching the glow of the auditorium’s stage lights. She pulled the microphone down to her lips and took a deep breath. “Thank you, everyone. I’m very honored to be named the Valedictorian of this year’s graduating class.” Light applause briefly floated towards her again. “I’d like to read something that I wrote about twelve years ago. It’s a letter.”  She raised a piece of paper up to read it. “Dear God, I just want to say thanks for everything. Daddy smiles a lot when she’s in the room. And I like her. I think mamas are good. I’ve always wanted one. So thanks for giving me one. I’m really happy!” She paused to look out into the crowd, where a small brunette woman sitting next to her father was holding a hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening. “There are a lot of things and even people in this life that we just take for granted. And I know that I could never have gotten through high school at all if not for my family.” Her voice cracked briefly as she swiftly swept her hand up to wipe her cheek. “Especially my mom.” Thunderous applause overflowed the stadium now as she stepped away from the microphone. The woman stood up as her daughter walked towards her. They embraced with some quiet tears. “I love you, Mom.” The woman took a deep breath to compose herself. “I love you too, baby.”

    She felt someone lifting her by her arms. She saw the glint of a blade through the haze. She was thrown, staggering, onto her feet. Someone held the knife towards her. She said nothing, and did not move. The woman looked from the knife to the one holding it. But she felt nothing. She was too tired to be scared. She was too tired to fight. She wiped her eyes. Was she even a human being anymore? Someone grabbed her by her dislocated shoulder again and slammed her against the wall. She didn’t cry out. She never had screamed, but now not even her soul cried out. Her naked skin did not burn with fury against its tormentors. Her eyes did not sear into those of her attackers. Her heart did not sing out through the dirt and chains and bruises. She was done. She had lost. She sat down where she was, in the midst of the evil. She looked up into the stony eyes of the man in front of her. “Please,” she began. Her voice was level, her face placid. “Kill me. Please kill me.” The man moved robotically. He grinned, his teeth glaring white against the darkness like a cat’s eyes. He raised his hand, which now held a pistol. He fired.

    The woman sat bolt upright in bed. The alarm clock beside her said 2:29am. She glanced around, gradually realizing where she was. Her bruises were gone, her cuts had vanished. She reached up and felt her long auburn curls. Her mind still felt the fear and the anguish of the dungeon, but the desolation of her heart had vanished with her scars. Her heart still throbbed. She felt her throat catch. Looked up at the spinning ceiling fan above her, trying to calm down and failing. Suddenly, a voice whispered, “Baby?” Her head jerked around to face the man who spoke. He slowly sat up with her. His eyes caught the dim moonlight through the window, glistening with compassion. He looked at her a still moment. His face grew forlorn. “Oh, dear heart.” His mellow voice caught with concern. “You had another nightmare.” He reached out to her. She fell into his arms, sobbing her heart away.


http://www.good.is/post/sixty-percent-of-american-teenagers-now-support-torture/...