Between Lions and Men

2: born unto you from heaven

Krista

I crawl along the basement floorboards. The wood hurts my knuckles and knees. But they are already bruised and bloodied. The crawl space in this house is narrow, barely enough for me to sit up. By now it reeks of my own blood, piss, and of course the rank smell of the body of my brother and my father. Bound up and dead beneath canvas that is now soaked through.

I don't spend all my time here. Sometimes they take me out. But that's far worse. Far. Far worse.

I crawl to the farthest end. Where there are cracks of light seeping in from where the bricks lack mortar. It's not much. But small hope. Light. The only thing I live for. That simple reminder of freedom. That somewhere there is light. And there is hope. Someday, a better day will dawn. Someday.

I use the dew from the bricks to try to rub blood from my bruised thighs. It doesn't work. But I keep some semblance of dignity. I don't know what for.

They taught me to pray. My mother did. She taught me my lessons, letters, numbers, cooking, and how to pray. She said that no matter where you were, the gods would always hear you. I didn't believe her then. I believe her less now. But faith is all I have. I have no proof or hope left. But I must be alive for a reason. I doubt anyone will hear. But I must believe in something.

"Please," I whisper, trying to curl my fingers around the sunlight, "If you can hear me. I cannot live like this. Take my life. Take me from here. Anything. I am yours. If you want something broken like me. if not have some mercy and end me. Nothing should suffer this."

No reply.

There never is.

Someday. Someday I will be back, free, in the sun. I have to believe that. If I don't. I have nothing. And I did like living. Before it was this.

I press my face against the bricks and try to breath. Today is a new day. The sun rose again. There is always hope.