They came for me. Their foot falls heavy on the floor. Each thud on the stairs vibrated in my chest; squeezing my heart violently. I wanted to run or to hide. But I knew that there was no where to go. I turned to the door and tried to prepare myself. The cold sweat trickled down my face and along my spine. My nails bit into my palms, but I could not relax my fists. It took them forever to arrive at the bed room. But when the door finally burst open, I did not flinch. I was proud of that.
Screaming orders as they moved, they laid their hands on me. Their voices were jumbled and echoed from far away. Glints off the rifles flashed in my eyes and obscured my vision. Giving no resistence nor compliance; I relaxed into the abusive hold. They dragged me from the room. This time, it was my feet that thudded on the stairs. Each time my feet slid across the step, my heart fluttered. Then the crash and my toes were again smashed into my shoes. Biting my lips; I refused to cry out. It did not matter if they saw blood at my mouth. They would get no satisfaction from my suffering.
They could not have it. I would not give it to them. There is no way for them to rip it from me. It is mine. Clinging to that, I swallowed my screams silently.
My suffering is my own.
The way there was a fog of voices, pain and hands. The voices yelling in my face and up close to my ear. I gave them no reply. The pain coming in bursts of cutting knives and then subsiding to the bone gnawing aches. The hands always upon me; shaking, hitting and pushing. I was a rag doll in their possession. And like a broken toy, they threw me away when they were no longer entertained by me.
The water dripped down the walls and gave small splashes as they dropped into the puddles on the floor. Coldness oozed in through the bars and settled numbly over me. The moisture softened my skin and it peeled away in thin layers of white. Scraps and bits fell from the hole above me. I ate this refuse, because there was nothing else to be had. I was long accustomed to the claws of hunger rending my guts. No shame resides in surviving. At our hearts, every person understands this.
When the trial came. I was condemned. I never gave a word in my defense. No one asked me why I had committed my crime. Yes, I am a criminal. The law was broken and if my fellow man is too blind to see the reasons behind this transgression, I will accept their punishment. Mercy? There is no need. Let this life of suffering change venues for a time.
There is no crime in surviving.