When there was sound, she could convince herself that she wasn’t alone. When the chains rattled and the dogs snarled—she knew that there were others fighting too.

The dark doesn’t bother her anymore, she learned to live on sound and touch alone. No words had left her cracked lips since they placed her, there is nobody to speak to. Nothing to say if she could speak. She waited.

Then came the silence. It was overwhelming—all encompassing. She looked for the thin flickering line of light under her door. It’s been a long time since she’s seen color, but she knows red.

She crawls to the light, pressing her body against the ground—she listens, the light is sharp—she closes her eyes.

Nothing.

Then a creak, slow at first. When she pushes closer—the sound grows louder. Through her eyelids the light pours through—her door is opening. She startles and scrambles back, pressing her body into the corner of the room.

She waits. She listens. Still there is nothing.

Edging along the wall she slowly approaches the door, once solid, now it is something to fear, something to hope.

She tears a strip of cloth from her bedding—covers her face—and pushes further. Even through the protection she feels the pain. Stabbing into her head she squeezes her eyes closed. Slowly she counts to one hundred, and then she counts back. She repeats this.

She adjusts.

Then steps forward, hands extended out of habit. Another step, and a smile. She steps over a body and a pool of red.

She’s free.