Falling With Grace

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat a stubborn obstruction. My hand clamped over my mouth like a vice, and I drew in a slow, measured breath through my nostrils—my eyes rolled back, and I descended further into the sanctuary of my safe space.

Nerves retreated from the wet floor, and my mind emptied, leaving me a soul trapped within an immobilized body—adrift in a void of existence, devoid of sensation or emotion.

14

Grace

“Jorge?”

I squinted and peered into the darkness glowing with a strange halo.

A hunched-over figure sat by the door, his arms dangling in front of him as though he were trying to touch his toes.

My stomach lurched. “Jorge, it’s not possible. How are you here?”

I leaned forward and put weight on my healing shoulder. The time spent in my collapsed prison added a moment for physical healing, but everything else remained steadfast.

“Jorge.”

My bruised knees prickled on the hard flooring as I moved closer.

The room hadn’t shrunk for three days, but they’d open the door all day and night, at random times, and slam it shut, waking me from a deep sleep.

My stomach twisted in knots with each jingle of keys.

Why hadn’t he sent his men in to use me?

“Jorge. Why aren’t you answering me?”

My fingertips brushed his rough shoulders, and I frowned.

The figure disappeared into the damning wooden chair sitting in what would have been the center of the room.

“No.” I hung my head, my lungs fighting for air, the lack of sleep and food, feeding my weakness.

With each passing day, my rations grew smaller. Yesterday, there was half a slice of tortilla and a small scoop of beans, enough to fill my mouth. Today, there wasn’t a tortilla.

My shoulders shook as I slid my chain behind me, moving back to my blanket.

Bang.

I scuttled backward, my heart pounding like a wild and relentless drum.

Whatwas that?

Bang.

Was that a gunshot?

Did Andrés find me?

Another gunshot rang out with a stifled malevolent crack. It struck the air with a tangible force, a chilling sensation that seized my very soul as though the bullet was meant for me.

Did Elias kill someone?

Would I be next?

“No,” the soldier outside my door said, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence of my prison.