Sick Man

“Assume the Position, all!”  A gruff voice spoke from the loudspeaker.

 The open topped hall dispersed the voice as soon as it came.  The message was certainly heard, however.

Gaunt.  Pale.  A buzz-cut was a one size fits all style at the facility.  His eyes looked enlarged relative to his cheeks and bare forehead.

The same operation went on every day.  They would be left to freeze in this empty room with our fellow co-patriots, wearing nothing but their thin white gowns.  His body shivered relentlessly, and it felt all the more pronounced in his thin body frame.

A man in dark brown strode passed him and stopped at the end of the row of prisoners.  By instinct, not by thought, he threw his knees on the concrete floor, with his hands overlapped on the back of his head.  The guards would always take their time to stare.  Anyone in poor form, or shivering violently, would be taken away.  Men in brown stood on the perimeter of the room, staring emotionlessly and fervently.

In a prison like this, the men believed in their duty and in the sin of the men they held in this place.  Two people down from him, a gray haired man jumped from his feet and latched on a man in brown two paces ahead of him, biting and grappling in a heartbeat.  Suddenly the room around him was alive again, loud voices shrieking and traveling throughout the room, all chaos and anger.  A crowd gathered by the attacked man.

He knew he must escape.


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