Salvation

Chapter One

Golden waves and torrents like a spool of thread from the softest of straw cross and weave in between the webs of my fingers and into my nails to flow down my palm and strain and combine into each other tightly and neatly, binding to soft skin.

My knees hurt and my ankles ache but I persist.

I take in deep breaths through my nose as I feel my heartbeat at a steady rate against the drum of my ear, it's a moment of rare peace and calming quiet in which my head is clear and the only thing i can think of is the soft hair that i softly weave into a braid that reaches the end of the back of my willing participant.

Small fingers reach up and touch the result of my work and big bug-like blue eyes try to subtly gaze back at me, a soft look and a small smile against the face that had been stained with tears not minutes before.

"я устал" (I'm tired) the little blonde with a need for company but a short patience turns her head around just slightly with a pout and i give a light nudge to her ear to tell her to face the wall across from the small and hard bunk we sat on in the concrete room.

"Я знаю, недолго осталось дитя" (I know, not long now child) tight and nimble fingers act as a comb through the tangled ends of the little girls hair as i finish off the braid and brush off some dirt that was sitting on the very edge of her jaw, softly turning her face and smiling sadly down at her.

She fiddles with the edge of her worn, woven robe with a scratched and marred pale hand and the other wipes the dried tears off of her cheeks roughly before turning her body and laying her head down in my lap with a large yawn, succumbing to a restful slumber.

I look down at her peaceful form and wonder how I'm ever going to save her, how I'm ever going to get her out of here and stop her from ending up how i did. The last thing i want for the girl whose name i don't even know, i don't know if she has or ever had a name, is for her to spend her life staring at the same 4 grey and damp walls in the dark that i have.

I come up empty with ways as i always do, so i just look down at her as her wide eyes droop.

Over the years as I have gained trust, my cell door has been left open at certain times of the day. 8am until lunchtime and 5pm until 11pm. So i can use the bathroom and stretch my sore muscles etcetera. But just over a year ago this blonde head of hair no older than 5 years old peeked her head around my door with tear-filled eyes and raw wrists and ankles. She didn't speak any english. She began to stutter to me in a deep Russian accent with poorly pronounced words telling me she missed her mother and for just a second that day i felt slightly less alone as i took her hands in my rough and scarred ones and brought her into my open arms until she stopped crying. I cleaned her with the little water i had and i braided her hair before she fell asleep in my cot.

Every night, just before lights out, since then has just been a repeat of that moment. The girl is too young to understand that she will never see her mother again but i try my best to somewhat fill a gap for her.

I stroke the baby hairs on her forehead as she sleeps and lean against the wall.

I can't keep my eyes off of her naturally long eyelashes and the small gash that is still fresh and cutting through her blonde brow. My touches to her face make her smile in her sleep and I feel my heart warm a little.

A few silent moments later and my head slowly raises as I hear a short snap of a heel against the ground outside my cell. It's far away, but this one tap repeats. Getting closer. And closer. More snaps and taps, more like a march than a stride, sound behind the first like a group of wanderers and immediately my attention is drawn and my body is ridged.