Hostage

by Paul Rousseau

The walls are chiseled with ruts from fingernails, the residue of torture. A mattress covers the floor, stained with nameless blood; a small bucket rests in the corner for his wastes. He is alone, in solitary; it is an uneasy, panicked monotony. Still, he hears the others, the muffled timbres of screams, the pungent smell of burning flesh, the grisly crack of bones, the harsh wheeze of last breaths. The cruelty is ruthless, tethered to a violence that betrays humanity. He survives, for now, by thoughts of his home set back from the street with a bib of lawn, flowering bushes, and the shade of a tree gnarled by age.

6S

Paul Rousseau is a semi-retired physician and writer, and is published in sundry literary and medical journals. He is a lover of dogs, chocolate, and books, and on a good day, staring at a trail of ants. He is currently marooned without a personal flotation device in Charleston, South Carolina.