The Clueless Sacrifice

I was blindfolded when they brought me here. No sounds or smells were familiar as my body rattled through the city, slightly bruised and battered. They must’ve slipped me something as I drifted.

A silk shift in magnificent vermillion cocooned me when I woke. The air was thick and hot and heavy, stifling any emotional outpouring in favour of trying to breathe. Movement felt impossible as I conceded, rolling onto my back in splutters and gasps against the pool-filled floor. My temples pulsed to control the heat and heartbeats that wracked my frame.

They’d moved me. The sweet sticky ceiling still stared back at me, but I was on a low stone bench that radiated a sickening warmth that rolling through my body. The atmosphere was thick, much thicker than it had been before. Lying there I’d never noticed the noise. Deafening, rhythmic druming drowning out any other noises, hopeful noises. My company; the heat, and the sweat, and the boiling of a giant copper kettle. Looking around, I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.

The walls to my cell are glass. I followed the wall around until I think I ended up where I started. There was no way to be sure. Fatigue hangs on every breath. Release is found momentarily on the stone floor, studying the other side of the glass. What I looked for I’m not sure and whatever it was it never came.

They’re trying to kill me. I stopped crying soon after I realised that I would not leave. My body did all my crying for me. Sweat swept down my limbs, soaking the dress swaddling me. I glowed bathing in saline and parched to the core, mesmerised by the bubbling all around me, watching as the steam punctuating the glass; dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dash.