The moist, frigid, unpolished cement rubbed broken and hard against her tender skin as she shifted herself from laying flat on the crushed gravel floor to lean against a cement wall of the same texture. Victoria investigated the small room as she crossed her arms rubbing her upper arms vigorously in desperate attempts to bring warmth back into her body while she pulled her knees in closer pressing her plump legs against her erect nipples that reacted to the emotionless cold. She slowly studied her strange environment which was a tiny cell not much bigger than a walk-in closet, dark, algid, reflecting a soft glow of striped light from the narrow window lined with metal bars. Directly in front of her was a dark metal reinforced door with a slot at the bottom. In the corner was a makeshift toilet with stone masonry darkened with age with a small trickle of water falling from a copper tube hanging from the ceiling directly above the large stone vessel.
Victoria was slowly adjusting to the fact that this was not a dream, she was really in a cell. BUT WHY? In that moment, she realized her children, where were her children? She jumped from her stupor and rushed the metal door and began beating with her fist screaming where are my babies? The shock began setting her mind to reeling what has Warren done to her? Was she in a make-shift asylum? Warren you **stard where are my babies, as tears blinded her eyes ignoring the pain that was throbbing through her fist and forearms from the force of each beat. You **stard where are my babies? Her body shivering slumped to the floor in disbelieve and pain as the sticky blood from her fist now smeared on her thigh. Tears fell as anger welled up deep within her, once again, once again she falls short of being a mother, lover, conquering a home life of love. She was not even able to fall short of the standards thrust upon her from her own upbringing because her mother was free to run around on her father, she was free to leave her daughter with strangers as the police hauled her father off to jail in handcuffs. Her own husband shuts her away into a cement cell to die a slow death away from the life and children that she thought was hers, the two gifts given to her –and now– that was ripped away from her. Her whole body shook with no other sounds but the intense screams pouring out from deep inside of her echoing within her hollow tomb. Suddenly the metal slat at the base of the door slid back. A blue speckled enamel cup slid through the slat. Victoria caught the glimpse of a gold tipped cowboy boot before the slat slammed shut. Victoria was really confused now. Ignoring the metal cup, she stood up quickly and began beating on the metal door once again.
“Mister, mister, please? What is going on, where are my babies?”
Total silence. Only the echoes of her voice once again. As Victoria run her finger through the splattered blood blotches upon left behind by her fist upon the metal door she only turned and slid down to the floor once again beside the cup of dark liquid within the cup. She stuck her finger into the moisture and touched her dry lips feeling the trickle of moisture seeping past her teeth and onto her parched tongue. The liquid had a liquorish flavor and the alcohol burn as it touched the blood-filled cracks on the outside of her hands. Victoria welcomed the liquid as it slid slowly past her lips and down her throat warming her insides, she wanted more as it began numbing her from the pain. She turned toward the metal door banging the metal cup on the door, in attempts to get a response from the man with the gold tipped boots.
“Mister, mister, PLEASE tell me where my babies are?”
Again, silence as she slipped into the darkness once again.
To be continued…