Beaten

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: BoMoWriCha Prompts
Written for a challenge at the BoMoWriCha Prompt House. https://www.booksie.com/house-bomowricha-prompts-1670

Submitted: October 19, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 19, 2018

A A A

A A A


Beaten

My eyes just don’t want to open. My head does not want me to gain consciousness. Stay out, don’t come round, I silently beg, although the fact that I can think that means that I am coming round.

Pain! Every single inch of my body screams out at me. ‘Don’t move,’ it says; ‘Stay still!’

The ground beneath me is hard, concrete. I don’t even have to open my eyes and look to know that. I can feel it, and now that I have, it seems important to try to move in to some kind of better position.

Somebody coughs close by. I don’t know why I had the impression that I was alone, but that is definitely what I felt. With the greatest of effort I force my eyes to not only open but to take in my surroundings. Four or five pairs of feet, all lined up together. I lft my eyes up from floor level and see four women sitting side-by-side on a bench. None of them are wearing anything on their feet apart from socks.

I can see where I have been bleeding on the floor. I look at what parts of me are visible. Livid purple and red bruising, some of it already turning black. Is anything broken? To be honest I can’t tell. Gingerly, I lift my left hand up to my face. Initially I recoil from my own touch, make it more gentle. There are lumps, cuts....I’m glad I have no access to a mirror.

Most of the walls seem to be made from the same substance as the floor – just plain concrete. But that fourth wall is just a row of bars. I am in a jail cell, I guess. But why? The others seem to accept their presence inside this glorified cage but then they don’t look all bruised and bloodied either.

What did I do to get myself put in to such a place? I mean, I’m a peaceful person, never go out and get in to trouble, never pick fights. Mostly I report on them.

There are heavy footsteps approaching. Boots, I guess, and more than one pair. I look at the four women and they seem to pull back hard against that wall as if they are trying to disappear. Looking up I can see that they are looking anywhere but towards me.

The footsteps stop outside the cell. I hear a key being inserted in the lock, twisted, turned. Two people walk in to stand right beside me. I need to get my swollen lips to form the words to ask just what I am doing here. I lick my lips, try to make a question issue from my mouth.

The kick is hard, stuns me. I’m not a victim of a street fight or a random attack, but of these brutal guards. The boot that catches me in the ribs empties my lungs of all air. Even if I could get my mouth to co-operate, I have no air to put behind my words.

W...Why?” I finally manage to gasp out my question before another boot catches me in the side of the head. As I feel my brain starting to shut down yet again, I can just about make out what one of the guards is saying.

Government orders. You’ll think twice before reporting fake news again.”


© Copyright 2018 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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