Scant squares of sunshine gently find their way through the wall. A patchwork quilt design covers the bare wooded floor. Cockroaches, confused in the deluge scamper over bare feet but no hand moves to swat them.
A patch of dust blows itself under the door. A sigh of non-committal strains of freedom echo in his mind. It has been so long, why is he still here?
Cabbage and dog flesh pass under the door, splashing droplets near his leg. Slowly, he reached a bent hand to the bowl and gently places it on his lap. The patches have all but faded.
Cold grips his frame as the rain begins to fall. Darkness comes quickly and a new reality begins to unfold.
Only darkness seems his formidable foe; squatting next to him throughout the night. He curls tightly against the wall.
Water begins to flow through the confines; everything is saturated in mud and bitter cold. Footsteps are heard. It has been so long, why is he still here?
A hand grabs his shoulder and makes him stand. Spun around quickly, he loses his balance with his face smashing clean the wall. The building shakes. Voices are heard to laugh. His hands are bound tightly behind him.
A stick shoots agony through his chest as he falls. Struggling to his feet, he is pushed and prodded forward through the mud. He slides against the threshold. The door opens and he quickly crawls inside. The door shuts and the footsteps leave. It has been so long. An eternity is passing. He has been here before.
The door bolts open and feet enter slowly. He lies so very still. The feet come closer and wipe themselves on this leg. He makes no movement.
Slowly, methodically, they walk around him - his every muscle twitching with each exacting step. They stop, pressed against his cheek. A voice speaks from above him in the darkness. A flash explodes inside his head, his eyes will not open, and he begins to choke.
Raising up on an elbow, he turns his head towards the floor. Blood cascades from his nose but he dares not try to stop the flow. As his eyes peel themselves open he sees a bloodied foot staring back from the floor. He falls.
The foot walks slowly around him. He is kicked. He is slapped. He is dragged by his binds to return to his confines.
The door swings open. His body falls inside. The door closes. It has been over twelve years, why is he still here?
He curls tightly, up against the wall. The water has stopped its flow through this, his place. The cold remained.
The flesh peels near the bone from his bindings. He tries to sleep.
It has been over twelve years. Why is he still here?
Copyright PsychopeteÓ 2003
