Thursday, March 14, 2013



I can hear the door to the cell creak open, but I barely lift my head. It's not even worth the effort anymore. My eyes stay closed.

I try not to move, like he won't notice me if I stay still. But the awareness of him being back makes me aware of the tiredness in my arms. I try to resist, but I can't. I flex my fingers in an automatic attempt to get the blood flowing into my limbs again.

He notices.  He notices and he laughs.

It's not a laugh of humor... or maybe it is. Maybe he enjoys this. All I can hear is the cruelty in it.  And I cringe.  Inside, outside. It doesn't matter. He knows.

As he moves forward, I can hear the whip slide across the floor. He asks me what he asks me every day.

I respond the same way I respond every day.

Again, he laughs. I answered wrong. It long ago stopped mattering what I answered.  Every answer was wrong.

He shuts the door. He cracks the whip.

I retreat inside myself to the one part of me that he hasn't yet broken. It's a small part but it's still mine.

Maybe for just one more day.  But it's still mine.


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