Off Track

796 Words4 Pages
This city was poles apart from the one I was forced to desert. Concrete towers scarred with bullet-holes. Infantile screams amplifying on every street corner, like the one of my baby girl, deceased with her mother, merely hours old. Blood varnished limbs, maimed by mines. The grass a field of rose petals, scattered with the parts of those divorced from themselves. No hearts to be broken. Except mine. I had barely wandered into the tin maze when a small boy, no taller than my waist, brought out his rusty Stanley knife, and implanted it into the unsuspecting dog’s loin in front of me, spraying blood onto my thighs. A girl wandered to my right, ribcage protruding to where it created red stretch marks. Christmas. A table, on the decking, surrounded by family. Obesity at every seat, the guilt of their stoutness reminding me of the moments before they all perished. Forever. I had been helpless. She turned around. I saw the flies biting at her, a buffet of self-decline. This was life at its most pure, fighting God to survive as you eke to the brutal end. I was woken by a truncheon lambasting my buttocks. I bitterly murmur away at school, before the teacher hollers towards my corner, and requests I stand up, hands together in front of me. I close my eyes and the excruciating pain hits me, punishment for my acrimoniousness. I see through the half eye that wasn’t shrouded with sleep or Trachoma, which for weeks now had made any attempt to see futile. The officers surrounded me, whilst my fellow inmates observed them beat me once more, as I developed bruises like an apple. Then they release me from the cell, leaving the captives to squabble over the bed furthest from the excrement and closest to the dormer, showing them life away fro... ... middle of paper ... ... and I had already lost my family, dignity and hope. It is time to join my family in heaven, although that’s unlikely. I most likely shall journey my way into one of the circles of Hell. I should probably be divided up between them. Dante Alighiere had written that poem especially for me, and it represented the voyage I was about to embark on. From an affluent position in life, I had found the bitter end. But it didn’t have to be this way. If I wasn’t desperate I would never have went to prison. I am fully literate, and fluent in not only English, but Portuguese too. The clang of the level crossing bell thunders through my ears. My fate is in my hands. If I roll now I can live, and be a better person, and return to my old life. I roll towards the rosebush, ready to start my new life. As soon as I leave the tracks I am going to become an interpreter. Then it hits me.
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