Wednesday, 25 November 2009

1 unfinished

I'd been sleeping when they stormed the house. 6am tear gas and riot gear. Kids stunned with tazers, me cuffed and kicked. winded and unable to move. My last memory of her gorgeous face is one of blood and tears and duct tape and a black bag. And then her feet kicking and trying for a hold on the ground as she is dragged away in front of our paralyzed and drooling children.

I try to force my way to my feet, but feel cold steel against the side of my face and then nothing.

I woke up in a bare, damp square cell. Feces decorated the walll by the toilet, hand prints and finger marks spelled out obscenities. Flies buzzed round and maggots wriggled from the edge of the pan to fall in pools of pish and vomit.
I gagged as i took my first breath, filling my lungs with its diseased air. My ribs hurt, my face was throbbing like hell and i could tell from the large plaster cast that my left leg was broken. The pain started to become more than a throb, more than just pain. Getting louder and louder ans it took over my body, crying in my brain, screaming out.

Hours passed as i lay there in the dingy and dark room, the only light coming through the edges of the steel plates over the window and the door. The pain had become part of me, a side i didnt like but couldnt divorce. My eyes had started to open, bulbous masses of blood filled sacks with slits as narrow as a racists mind. A key rattled in the door and fake light flooded my cell. i tried to rase my arm to cover my eyes, but a shooting pain climbed up through it as i stifled a scream.