About prisoners, but where, and why?
|Trapped. Once again placed against my fellow prisoners. Forced to stand upright for days, weeks, on end. With no room to move, we experience a tortured existence. Iâ€™m not sure how long we have been here; long enough to forget where I come from. However, Iâ€™m somewhat glad I donâ€™t stand at the ends of the rows, poor souls, crushed not only against us, but the walls also.
Sometimes the monotonous, silent standing is interrupted. The jailer or her minions come along, staring at us all before plucking one of us out randomly and carrying us away. Terrible, terrible things happen then. I still remember when it happened to me, I still get nightmares. Opened up and all of your insides scrutinizing investigated and pored over. Iâ€™m rather lucky though, if luck exists for us. Others quietly spoke of being bent backwards or even having some of their insides torn completely out. Horrible beings, these keepers that hold us here. Â´Oh no, what was that??Â´ ..Nothing. This time. And so, once the torture is over we are either jammed back with the other inmates, or thrown into sacks and carried and jostled for days on end. Â´And.... no, not me, not now.... please....Â´
Sunlight streamed through the open window highlighting all the dust in its path. Shelves filled with books line the room. Bright pictures of imaginary figures from stories fill the walls to the ceiling. A young girl searches through all the dusty shelves before stopping and picking up a large ancient tome. Its bindings creak as she slowly opens it up. Something shuffles behind her. Startled, she nearly drops the book. Â¨Careful there, Sarah.Â¨ says a kindly voice.
Â¨Oh, it just you Mrs. Butler, you scared me for a second thereÂ¨ replied Sarah softly, brushing her once tidy hair into a semblance of normality.
Â¨I am sorry about that Sarah, although I do know what it feels like to be here alone, Â¨ said the smiling librarian, Â¨sometimes, I would swear these books are alive.Â¨