Come, Time
Page 22
by Richard Jenkins
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
I know what this is, torture. Pain. Good. Justice. A beautiful scream. Does the mute scream? Beyond words to the base of man. A scream to wring out sin. I have nothing to say, never, to anyone! I give them no sound, nothing of me. My blood, spit and sweat but nothing of me. You survive, or you don’t. All I think is that I would do it to them.
Darkness. Baking hot in a metal tomb. My guess, a shipping container. Definitely out at sea. Drifting in and out of black. Hungry, thirsty, but better than before, now always better than before. Alone, just me. They give me time.