Francesca's Dream

Hell has Risen

Sorry that I haven't posted in a while I have been busy with school and I went on a little vacation for a few days. I am going to move this story to the historical fiction category, and thanks for reading this; your awesome.

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          Francesca heard a door close behind her; Eric was gone. She was now left in a small fenced in area with two dozen prisoners and gun pointing guards. A whistle blew; the workers stopped and straightened there tired backs. The guard with the whip began to shout," Alright you good for nothing pigs; get in line and shut up." Francesca stood there for a moment in shock; suddenly a tall burly guard was half pushing half dragging Francesca into one of the lines. The rest of the workers filed into two lines, a gate topped with barbed wire opened. The guard in front escorted the prisoners out the gate and into an enormous fenced in space. Bunk houses were spread throughout, each house had a number on it.

       Another large building was in the pen, it was a mess hall. The lines of prisoners stopped at a set of bunk houses. "You are dismissed except you." One of the guards said pointing at Francesca. The prisoners dispersed into their houses; the guard walked up to her, he smelled of sweat. "State your name." He said in a demanding tone."Evenson." She said, her eyes glassed over in worry. A guard of a lower rank came up next to the other guard and presented him a clipboard. The main guard check the board and looked up at Francesca. "House 117-G, at the end of your work shift you are to report here or be punished." He said giving her a deadly look.

       She walked past him still looking at him with glassy eyes, she walked into her bunkhouse. Workers lined the walls and sat on benches in the middle of the esile. Some of the men who were on the working pen had their shirts off. They had long deep gashes on their backs; they had to have come from the whip. A few kind people were applying some kind of sticky ointment to the wounds. Francesca sat on a bare bed; head in her hands with a feeling of all is lost.

       "Hey you new?" a male voice said. Francesca lifted her head to the keeper of this voice, her eyes met a round face; eyes like bright blue saucers; hair as dark as night. "The name's Aira, and you are." "Francesca." She said looking up to him. "Well Francesca you're on my bed and I have shift in 4 hours and would like to sleep, the bed up top is yours." Aira said in an almost irritated tone. Francesca stood up from the rickety bed; he was a bit taller than her, but only by a few inches.

       Aria laid in bed and rolled over, ending the conversation. Francesca climbed the wooden ladder of the bunk bed, the mattress had a dark stain in the middle of it; she didn't want to know what from. There was a bare straw stuffed pillow, no sheets; This was going to be a long night she thought to herself.  She crawled up into the bed and laid her head on the pillow; she prayed that she would wake up from this hell she was living in ,and find herself back into her soft blankets and pajamas. She closed her eyes and slept.

       Francesca woke with a start, a loud whistle had woke her from her slumber. Men and women were being pulled from their beds one by one. Guards with pistols in their holsters, were calling out names and numbers of people, each slowly rising out of there beds. What is going on Francesca thought to herself. Francesca sat up still in a sleepy daze; an officer walked over to the bunk beds by Francesca. He walked over to her cold eyes of hate staring into her soul, he snatched out with a leather gloved hand grabbing her hair. He pulled her out on the bed; she hit the dirt floor with a painful thud. He let go of her hair and gave her a swift kick to the ribs "Get up you cur." He said walking away.

       Francesca clutched at her side, the pain burned away at her ribs. She rolled onto her stomach and onto her hands and knees. She rose still doubled over in pain and walked out of the bunkhouse; the guards were lining the prisoners into line it looked like they would be taking her and the rest of the prisoners into the working pen. The group started moving; they soon were standing at the gate that separated them from the working pen.

       The gate opened, guards armed the guns lined the opening to the working pen, as the group entered. Lights lit the small pen; for it was still dark outside. pick axes and sledge hammer laid on the ground, their worn handles covered in blood.

       The sun had risen hours ago, Francesca's arms shook as she raised the hammer above her head and let it fall. She collapsed to her hands and knees; the sun sucking all of the energy from her body. A dark figure stood above her; covering her eyes from the suns glare, the figure grabbed her by the arm. It was a man with ebony skin, he wore the soldiers pants and boots but wore a white muscle shirt to cool himself from the heat. "What do you think you're too good to work. We will show you where you cur belong." The soldier spat.

       In the middle of the small working pen stood what looked like a small wooden cross. The soldier pulled rope from his pants pockets; she looked up at him, he was the man with the whip yesterday. Francesca knew what was going to happen and began to panic, with what energy she had left she lashed out trying to get away from his grip. He grabbed her tighter; throwing her to the ground kicking her again in the ribs. She gave out a blood curdling scream of pain. He grabbed her hands and tied her to the post so she couldn't move.

       He grabbed another soldiers knife and cut her shirt all the way down her bare back. Francesca gave a small whimper; feeling exposed. The soldier looked down at her pale unmarked back," Your first whipping, You will remember this forever, and you will be begging me for mercy.

       He raised his whip and let it fly across Francesca'a back. She screamed in agony; warm blood flowing down her back. He whipped her again, again and again; each time crying out for mercy. The other prisoners had stopped their work; there hopeless eyes watching. Reality was slowly slipping away from her.