I can hear them outside, the Dancers. Every afternoon they dance under the sweltering summer sun. It beats down on their sallow skin and the sandy stones of the courtyard. The sunlight mingles with their sensuous salsa music that seeps from a dated record played perched on a rickety old stool in the corner of the square. The Dancers cheery laughter lilts joyfully skywards. I feel so close to that laughter that I can almost taste it. But, at the same time, I know I cannot grow closer to it. There is only a wall between us, just a few inches of brick but it is impermeable. I am invisible to them. I am a hostage.
I’m in a tiny room. It seems smaller every day. The yellowing plaster on the time tattered walls is cracked all over and crumbles dryly in your hands. It leaves them coated in a pale dust like a bakers flour enwhitened fingertips. The room is empty, apart from a precariously dangling light bulb at the very centre of the ceiling. It dispenses its harsh fluorescence into the little box all day and all night, illuminating this coffin of the living. It would be better if I wasn’t all alone. Solitary. It would be better if I wasn’t Invisible.
“Bang! Bang!”, bullets jolted from their cosy barrels, whizzing dangerously close to my fleeing body. My feet pounded the worn cobbled street. I sped clumsily around the dark meandering alleyways. The chase was short. The speeding, hot metal sunk deeply into the tender white flesh of my upper arm. Just before the tumultuous wave of pain crashed on me, I decided to ‘play dead’. I flung myself limply on the hard stone ground, closed my eyes and hoped my feeble plan would work. The shooting stopped. A torrent of heavily booted footsteps came nearer to me. I tried desperately not to shake or jump but my heartbeat raced in my eardrums and hope was quickly diminishing. The footsteps died down. I felt surrounded. One assailant cautiously approached me. I could feel his rushed and heavy breath on my cheek as he drew nearer. I could smell the rich aroma of cigars and dark, sweet coffee. Blood pulsated through my veins and seeped endlessly from my wounded arm. I felt a gentle weight on my neck. Two cool fingertips sought out and found my racing pulse. “Ella viva!”, he cried out in his vivacious Castilian Spanish, and with that I was grabbed roughly by hundreds of steely grips and held until I could hardly breathe. My neck was punctured by an icy, cold needle. I began to fall, it got darker and darker and never stopped. Constantly Sinking...
Now I’m in this infinitesimal chamber. They strapped me tightly onto an inhospitable metal chair. The malevolent light beams collide with the cold silver surface and dazzle my purple swollen eyes. “Drip! Drip!”, I’m under a rusty, leaky pipe that runs across the ceiling. There’s a tiny hole directly over my head. Its corroded, jagged edges allow just enough space for a lazy cruel drop to tumble down and crash on my aching head. The next little droplet waits just sickeningly long enough for me to think the torture is over before it plummets to its death on my skull.
Today they blindfolded me. A young, competent man that I had never seen before walked confidently in, almost marching. He had a deep walnut tan on his weather-beaten face and from underneath a mop of black hair, unfathomably chestnut eyes commanded attention. I stood up nervously and awkwardly. He walked directly towards me without hesitating and produced the soft black cloth. He demonstrated its use and, without speaking, handed it to me insinuating that I ought to do the same. I shrugged, thinking it would be a relief from the glowing light bulb, and tied it comfortably around my head in silence. My visitor checked it and tightened it a little. While he was doing so he softy whispered in my ear, in a broken accent “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay”. It was a soft little lie.
I know something’s going to happen tonight. The blindfold has been constantly checked. There’s more noise than usual. I think they’re setting up some heavy equipment. “Splash! Splash!”, what was that!?! Sounds like water, beating off the sides of an old enamel bath, lolling around soothingly, waiting to cleanse and replenish. Grabbing me and pulling me to my feet, they are leading me across the room. Every step brings new well-springs of terror and fresh dread. They throw me to my knees and my teeth strike a thin metal rim. Pain shoots around my face, my head begins to reel and swoon. I’m held upright. Many voices shout commands and many more accept them. I don’t know how long I’ve been wearing the blindfold for but I know that I’ve forgotten what my cell looks like. My hands are bound with a scratching, tearing twine. Someone violently pulls my head back by the hair causing me to release a piercing, fear-laden yelp. My reward is to be gagged. The blindfold is ripped off. Lurid incandescence scalds my horror-stricken eyeballs. I can’t close them! I can’t! What’s happening!?! All I can see is light so white, it’s red. They’re holding my eyelids open! I hear phials clinking “Pop! Pop!”, vials opening. “Aagh!”, I scream a full, strong, blood-curdling scream. The pain! Pain! Bubbling, burning pain! Foul stench of corrosive acid eating away at my pearly white eye-jelly. Red! Blood Red! Black. Is anyone out there? Can anyone hear me? See me? Nothing more to see. I begin to fall. It’s getting darker and darker and isn’t stopping. Constantly Sinking… And then it stops I’ll never be seen again.
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