Locked in Plasma

I don’t like it when I have nowhere to go. I feel caged in. I can’t breathe. I can’t get rid of the wiring in my stomach. My dance teacher used to say, breathe, if you don’t breathe, you die. I’m reminded of other lives. When emotions bottle up, I can’t speak. I see myself in a cell, pushing against the walls, locked in plasma. I can’t get out. I scream in silence.

They took my voice away when they came for me in the amphitheater. It was filled with students. I never wavered. I saw them at the top of the stairs, an army of shadows. They chilled the warriors, anonymous faces hiding behind their uniforms. They had orders. All went dark.

I kept going, not interrupting the session, or was I pretending to be calm. Then all I smelled was their boots. They grabbed me with such strength I thought I’d disappear. I didn’t walk with them. I was dragged all the way, gasping for air.

Black out. I’m thrown into a cell, beaten down. I see him, tall and standing by the door, his belt undone. I’m struggling to lean against the wall. I love you, he says, holding the whip, the odd lips a hint of a smile, his face whiter than bone. He looks familiar. I’m ready to believe him. His eyes are gone. They grind through me, ice blue. My body collapses to the ground.