Monday, 12 October 2009


He could feel the draught from the open window blowing cold over his wet face. He stayed still, too scared to move. Petrified. He dare not breath, every movement scanned and processed. The buzzing of the machinery still could be heard. Not safe yet. The door from the bed room was open, the corridor dark and inviting. If he was on his own he might have thought about running, but not with the woman, that would be madness.
He could always leave her behind. He could easily say that she had been captured. They would believe him

He fought back the urge to bolt, to run as fast as he could and just get out of the building. But he knew the only way to beat them was to stay still.

He should have listened, he shouldnt have come back. not so soon. It could have waited.

He tried to make eye contact with the woman, but her neck was rigid and her eyes were screwed shut. her brown curly hair tied tight at the back of her head, her pale ivory face, drained, with one solitary tear pooling in her left eye. She had the fear. She believed the stories, she believed the detention camp was real and knew the horrors that would become them. She feared the beatings and the torture, the mutilation and the vicious trials. The removal from existance.

He, on the other hand, could lose nothing more.

1 comment:

  1. I know youve read it before!! please be patient, this may take some time and effort, both of which are small commodities with me!!!