Out of Darkness

Light seeps through my eyelids, forcing consciousness. I squeeze them shut and lie for a moment more, savoring the dark, remembering a time when brightness was my motif. The moment passes, and I surrender.

No dreams today, I think, as the spotlight pools around my straw. Gruff voices force me upright, and I stumble to the door. Stand straight, stand tall, stand still. The guards bark out our numbers, each one echoed in return. 59! and my voice growls 59! in reply. I wince with the memory of those fresh first days, when I stood defiantly with my back to the door, silent, at least until the pain brought out what I had first refused to give. 59! 59! 59! to no avail, the beating continued, 59 indeed.

The voices pass and I relax, and turn - 59! brings me up short. I stifle a tremble, standing still, and tall, and straight. Don't move is the only thought that crosses my mind. I am nowhere - halfway between the cell door and my pile of straw, standing in the mud. I hear the door open, and wait for the crack of the whip. Stand tall, stand still, stand straight. Not this time, as rough hands grab my arms and tightly pin them behind my back. A hood slips over my head, and I am yanked toward the door and beyond - wherever that might be.

Head bowed to ease the pain, I stumble along, directed by a series of shoves and pulls. Halt. I obey. I hear a door open, and a shove sends me through. Stand taller, stand straighter, stand very still. The hood comes off, and the man is in front of me, behind a desk, rough hewn from wood salvaged from old cell doors, sitting on no more than a stool, the light from above. He and I are caught in the light, the others free to wander beyond its border, though always close by, with a whip or a stick.

Do you know why you are here? he asks, as the ritual begins.

Yes, I reply, standing as tall and as still and as straight as I can.

Do you know of what crime you are accused?

Yes.

Are you guilty of this crime?

Yes.

The pause goes on for its while.

Have you received enough punishment?

No. I brace for the impact. The moment comes, and passes. A sob escapes my lungs, and the tension redoubles.

You are wrong.

The light dims as the hood is slipped back over my head. Voices call out, and I am dragged from the room, in a direction I do not recognize.. Through another door, and I am outside or near it, I can feel a breeze. My arms are freed, and the hood comes off.

A hallway stretches in front of me, leading to a brightly lit opening. The breeze comes from there, and sounds and small voices. The light is so bright. I glance to each side. There are guards staring straight ahead, the light gleaning all the details I have never seen, including the rifles they hold with ease.

Go, one of them calls, Go!

I take a step forward, toward the light, and another, bracing for the impact.

Go! A few more steps and I will reach the light. I hear something from behind, but do not turn. A click, or maybe more, it could be a door closing or something else.

Go! I take the last step, bracing for the impact.

GO!

And then I am in the light, standing tall, standing straight, standing still.