When All That's Left Is Hope

• Ashlee Luce, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2013

Fever engulfed her body and nausea caused her hands to shake and stomach retract as sweat poured from her face. Her one small window allowed a sliver of sunlight to shine onto the floor.
The sound of seagulls came faintly in through the open window, carried in by the brief breeze that spat through the rails. She breathed in the small amount of fresh air, trying to free her tense muscles. Reaching for her hair she let her longs shocks fall from their detained position, a sense of freedom. If she stood on her toes the wind could blow the top of her head and allow some sense of relief.
Just as she was about to stand she heard a door slam. In that instant a cloud came over the sun and the sea gulls screeches seemed to turn into the sound of crows. The feeling of peace and freedom suddenly snatched from her grasp.
She quickly went to her makeshift cot and wrapped her tattered blanket around her exposed body. She felt the blush creep into her cheeks.
“I have just the one for you.” She knew this voice to be Masters. She closed her eyes and silently prayed. She knew little about God, but each time she heard that voice she knew she had to try and ask someone for help. Her head bowed and her eyes still closed, she could hear the footsteps stop outside her cell. She was too scared to open her eyes.
“Ah! Rosy, get up you have a visitor.”
Her shoulders tensed. She shivered at the name given to her by this grotesque man.
Her innocence, her childhood, had all been snatched out of her grasp. Her childhood dreams where now a long lost memory. They would never come true. Never would she marry and be a beautiful bride, preparing to give herself to her husband in her full ability. Nor would she ever be the mother she had always dreamed of being. She would have no boys to take to soccer, or girls to take to dance. Those dreams were a shadow of another life. Someone she could never be.
Instead she was stripped of all that was once hers. Her name changed and her clothes taken. She was a filthy book, blank and open for all who wanted a glimpse at her exposed pages.
As the men stood on the outside of her cell, she glanced over at the marks under the window. Thousands of marks lined the wall, and on the other side ten beautiful marks, side by side on the wall. Her ten angels. All taken before she could hold them or caress their cheeks.
She hesitated, but quickly laid the blanket aside and walked towards the cell door. The only way for survival would be to embrace this life as best as she could.
The physical and psychological bruises would always be there, but maybe, one day, they would find her.
All she could do was hope.