Ibex

United States

Christian
as in Presbyterian Church in America
Female
Writer
Novelist
Poet!
Reader
Ambivert or something
Self-proclaimed band nerd
Planet Earth nerd
etc, etc
Joined September 10, 2019

Message to Readers

hi

The Dissident

November 21, 2019

FREE WRITING

0
I would really appreciate it if someone read and reviewed/commented on this piece. Enjoy!
Your cheek presses against the cell’s stone floor, the damp chill seeping under your skin. Droplets of water plink from the ceiling, ricocheting off your temple. The cell smells of mold and mildew, and the air tastes foul. Somewhere not far away, another prisoner coughs.
You think you hear wolves howl somewhere above you, but you can’t be sure. Maybe it is only the moans of the other prisoners. You’ve been here for weeks, or perhaps it was only days, or hours, or minutes, or seconds.
The blindfold scratches your face. You reach up to adjust it, only to remember your shackles as they pull angrily on your wrists. Your skin, tender and bloody, screams in agony.
The other prisoner coughs again. 
You hear the ominous approach of clicking heels. The cell door, creaking on its hinges, swings open before slamming into the wall with a loud clang.
Out of the darkness, a voice, “The one who coughs. Take him.” The voice is young, beautiful even, but you know to whom it belongs.
Upon hearing the woman’s command, the other prisoner screams, “No! Not me! Why me? I’ve done everything you asked!”
The woman doesn’t respond. You hear chains clank against the stone and a thump as the prisoner is pulled to the ground and dragged from the cell. Pleading sobs echo through the hall as he laments the inevitable. You shudder, knowing that you too will suffer the same fate.
As the clicking footsteps go back the way they came, you sigh, burying your face in your arms while hot tears trickle down your cheeks. 
You remember the life they took from you—your wife, who always held her head high, even in times of bitter trial, and your daughter. You baked bread with them; you smell the aroma of fresh bread on the air, with just a hint of rosemary. You went to the beach and watched waves roll over your feet, breathing the salty scent of the sea breeze. On summer evenings, you went fishing You sat on the porch after a thunderstorm in hopes of seeing a rainbow, the air still tasting of electricity. You loved those two more than anything else in the world.
It’s summer now on the farm. They’ll start the harvest soon. Crates of Mason jars will arrive at your doorstep for your wife to can peaches and make strawberry jam. She’ll bake a tomato pie for dinner tonight.
Clicking. The cell door slams open.

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