The crime of being you

He squinted at the bright sun, too bright for his eyes that were now accustomed to the darkness of his cell…

It has been 45 days since he last saw another human being yet he certainly felt the pounding, the rape and the torture they inflicted upon his blindfolded body. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ever see another man again…

As accustomed as he was to being manhandled in his sleep, he gave no heed that night that they had changed his old rags for a bright orange clean overall. In fact, he was unaware of practically anything for the past 45 days. He could not tell how much time was passing by. All he could know was that the time between two torture sessions was far too short and that pain would be upon him again too soon.

Cries of agony became customary, pain became a necessity. He sometimes felt as though screams were the only sounds his body could make. He had lost his ability to speak, he no longer recalled the use of words. In fact, he no longer recalled anything before his capture.

Sometimes when he was alone in the dark, some images came flashing back to him, images from a distant life, like memories from a dream. He tried to cling on to them, keep them in his mind’s eye but they faded quickly, hazy as they were…

He became something less than human, a breathing shell, a shadow with no past, no present or future.

Today however was different. He had waited and waited for his torture to begin yet the ”ghosts”-as he thought of them- never came. He was pushed and dragged instead out into the day. Sensations rushed back to him, overwhelming, almost too much for his brain to process.

He was not blindfolded and was well aware of the ghost shackling him.

It took time for his eyes to redefine the colors he was seeing; blue sky, black hood, blue sea, orange overall, brown sand.

His ears could make out sounds, the likes of which he felt he had never heard before; seagulls cawing, water lapping, the ghost’s breathing.

He could feel water on his feet, wind on his face, his chains tugging at the raw skin of his wrists.

Step after step, he became aware of more complex stimuli tickling his senses… The one sensation he could not drown with the others was a visceral one. He knew.

***

Down on his bruised knees he was forced. He relished in all the sensations that have been running through him, knowing they were his last and wondering if there was anything left for him still worth fighting for.

You are being sentenced to death, he heard the ghost say.

For what crime?, shouted a familiar voice.

The crime of being you. the ghost replied before plunging his blade deep into the throat of these vermin who sullied the earth with their very existence.

After the initial singe of the blade subsided, a much welcomed peace took over him and he greeted death like the oldest of friends…