One Picture, One Story
Alex stared at the cold, grey floor trying to figure out where he was. He had heard rumours of the heavy handedness that the Government dealt with those who opposed them, but those had been simple intimidation tactics. National Police would show up at your door and warn you to stay away from this conference or that public appearance, but never had he heard of this! You are trying to figure out why you are here. Alex kept is eyes fixed on the floor as he braced for the coming flash of pain. It didn’t come. It doesn’t matter where you are, but why you are here.
Alex felt tears well up in his eyes. He simply did not know what he did to deserve this fate. He knew there is no way he would ever be allowed to leave. He pulled against the restraints, but could make no headway. This nightmare was not going to end with him starting awake in his bed in a cold sweat.
After the election Alex, like everyone else, carried on as usual. He kept submitting columns to newspaper after newspaper and he kept getting enough published to pay his rent and keep his belly full. He gave no thought to the questionable tactics that riddled the campaigns and didn’t bat an eye at any of the rumblings around him about the budgets and foreign policies. He kept writing.
Why do you write? Alex tried to speak, but the stitches held his mouth shut. He heard the man give a mocking snicker from just outside the threshold of his vision. I guess I should answer that for you. You write because you have ideas. You write because you want to enrich the lives of those who read those words. Alex tried to turn the chair, but it was bolted to the floor. He felt a sharp pain in the corner of his mouth as the thread holding his mouth shut slithered out like a tapeworm being removed. The tinny taste of blood filled his mouth and he spat and swore out of instinct. Can someone explain this to me?? Alex managed to say between fits of coughing as the blood dripped down his esophagus. Pain. Darkness.